


Just for One Night

by InkingAnonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Smut, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkingAnonymous/pseuds/InkingAnonymous
Summary: It's the night of Draco's task, and he needs to be with Hermione, just one more time. After the task, Hermione returns to her room to read the letter Draco left for her. As she reads, she reflects on their year together and tries to reconcile who Draco wanted to be and who Draco was fated to be.It's technically AU, but I try to keep what I can as close to cannon as possible.





	1. Just for One Night

So take this night  
Wrap it around me like a sheet  
I know I'm not forgiven  
But I need a place to sleep  
So take this night  
And lay me down on the street  
I know I'm not forgiven  
But I hope that I'll be given . . .  
Some peace  
“This Night” by Black Lab

 

Hermione went into her bath to shower. The lake water, refreshing at first on this unusually hot day, was now starting to smell like the giant squid. As she emerged from the steamy room, she noticed that it was finally starting to get dark out. As Hermione walked to her closet, a piece of parchment on her bed caught her eye:

_Harry left with Dumbledore tonight. Wants us to patrol the castle. Neville and I are starting by the dungeons and going to make a few rounds. Meet you in the common room around 10 if all is well.  
-Ron_

Hermione frowned. The note left her uneasy. If anything were to happen, it would be tonight. But that would mean that Draco was up to something and she had been dead wrong all year. The logic in her would not allow her mind to wander down that path, and honestly, she was usually right. No way could something that significant slip under her radar. Yet, she still felt uneasy and wished she could talk to Draco.

After dressing in a blank tank and jean shorts, she sat at her vanity and performed the usual hair drying spell, her chestnut curls forming soft ringlets down her back. As she was spreading moisturizer on her face, she caught his reflection in the mirror. The idiom, “Careful what you wish for,” flitted through her mind.

She continued working the lotion into her skin, smoothing it down her neck. She held his gaze all the while, making it clear she would not speak first.

“I came to apologize.”

Hermione broke his gaze but did not turn. She smoothed the excess moisturizer onto her hands, paying particular attention to her fingers.

“After I left, I spent most of the night writing and re-writing this. You know I’m not nearly as poetic in person as on paper. Charming, certainly but-“

Despite her best judgment Hermione smiled softly, “You know I love words.”

“This year. . .we’ve had such. . .it’s been so. . .”

“You really do have a way with words, Malfoy.”

Draco huffed and half-smiled at her, thinking that this was going to be so much harder than he thought. He wished she was angry.

“I know you didn’t mean what you said. And by now, you know I’m not much better at communicating my emotions than you. I’m sorry for making you feel…childish. You’re almost 17. Almost legal,” she smirked.

At her joke, Draco’s face moved into the genuine smile Hermione was so familiar with- the one that changed him from attractive to unbearably beautiful. She liked to tease him about the fact that she was already 17, so technically, she was breaking the law by sleeping with him.

Draco continued to smile at the memory prompting Hermione to ask what he was thinking about as she stood to face him.

He leaned against her bed post and replied, “You.”

“Well, you have quite the treasure trove of memories in regards to me. I’m going to have to ask you, Mr. Malfoy, to be more specific.”

He said, “Actually I was thinking we could make another memory. Now.”

“Oh really? I think I need to read that letter first.”

“No.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

Draco shifted his weight and pushed off from the bedpost with his shoulder, walking to her nightstand, and placing the letter on top of her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_. He turned and walked closer to Hermione, stopping inches in front of her, testing her reaction to his proximity.

She didn’t move. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was even breathing anymore because when she locked onto Draco’s eyes, what she saw horrified her.

This was it. This was their last night together and he wanted her to know how he really felt. For the first time, his posh, porcelain mask was completely cracked and each piece that fell as he looked at her revealed all of Draco’s true emotion.

He loved her.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and his breathing became shallow.

“Let me love you tonight. Please. Just let me love you.”

Hermione closed the gap pressing a bruising kiss to his lips, his soft, sweet lips. The kiss was chaste, hard, but lingering.

Hermione pulled back, wanting to see the open emotion one more time on his face before it was veiled by his desire for her. Never had anyone looked at her like Draco was looking at her now. Needing her, wanting her, and completely in love with her.

He twisted one hand into her hair and settled the other on her hip. He began kissing her, slowly, in his teasing, familiar way.

She ran her hands up his chest, one pausing on his shoulder, the other mirroring Draco’s twisted grasp on her own hair. She loved the way his hair felt. Thick and luxurious, yet each thread was silken, like pallid rose petals.

He moved towards the bed, Hermione following not daring to break contact. His hands moved to lift her tank and unbutton her shorts. She broke the kiss impatiently, shimmying out of her tight shorts, kicking them to the floor. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Draco followed her lead and pulled his black shirt over his head, licking his lips at the sight of her full breasts.

Hermione pulled Draco towards her by his belt and began licking and nibbling his neck. He allowed his head to loll back to grant her better access. She tasted his collar bone and worked her way up to his chin, softly dragging her teeth over it. Draco shivered, and she kissed along his jaw while working on his belt and trousers.

Draco’s hands were running across her smooth, small back and he reached down to cup both her buttocks. He squeezed and lifted so she moved onto her toes. She playfully bit his earlobe and backed away just far enough to allow his trousers to fall.

Draco hooked his thumbs in his boxer-briefs and pulled them off. He kicked off the rest of his offending garments and watched as Hermione mirrored him in the removal of her underwear.

She started to move forward but Draco grasped her hips and breathed, “Let me look at you.”

His eyes devoured her body, making her feel both empowered and shy. Draco was the only lover who could make her feel like a wicked goddess and a chaste maiden.

Hermione returned his gaze and let her eyes roam from his face to his toes. There truly was not a flaw on Draco Malfoy. He was every bit the aristocrat and the only marring on his skin was the faint pink scars from Harry’s curse. One could only see them if they were looking for them.

His cock was already so hard she that precum seeped from the tip, inadvertently begging for her tongue.

She moved quickly, enveloping his cock in the heat of her mouth before he could even register that she was on her knees. His arm reached for the bed post, steadying himself as she languished in the taste of him. She played, only for a minute, knowing that he wanted to be buried deep inside of her when he came. She stood slowly, licking her way up his taught stomach and chest finding his lips once again. He never cringed from the taste of himself. Why should he? He tasted divine.

Draco turned them around so he could push Hermione onto her back. He moved them into the middle of the bed, his thigh settling into her wetness. She squeezed her muscles around his leg as he began to kiss her. She was trying to be patient, to let him love her, but the ache between her legs was nearly driving her mad. She shook her thoughts away and focused on the fact that tonight was about him, and that he would satisfy her- he always did.

Draco made his way down her neck now, one hand already molded to her breast, thumbing her erect nipple. His mouth soon covered the other nipple, his tongue dancing around increasing her arousal. It made her think only of how good that tongue felt on her clit.

Draco spent some time lavishing attention on each of her breasts before making his way to the juncture of her thighs. He knew his goddess was doing her best to restrain herself and he looked up and smirked at her as he pushed her thighs far apart. Her hands were already tangled in his hair awaiting his next move. She answered his smirk by tugging hard on his hair and narrowing her eyes.

His smirk grew into a wicked grin and he nipped at her thighs and abdomen, everywhere but her hot center.

“Dray…”

He loved it when she called him that. It was her name for him, in play and passion.

He rewarded her by plunging his tongue into her center. She let out a low groan and spread her thighs wider. He loved that her lips were bare, hair only covering a neat triangle of flesh on her pubic bone.   

He lapped at her moisture before circling his tongue around her soft pink lips. Hermione shuddered, loving that this was his forte. He never missed an inch of her. He slowly worked his way to her clit licking and sucking until he felt her body begin to tense. He slowed his ministrations bringing her to the brink again and again but never letting her spill over into blissful orgasm. Tonight, she wasn’t coming until it was with him.

Despite a dislike for teasing, Hermione loved when he controlled her body, forcing her orgasm to wait until he was ready for it.

Draco pulled back and slid his hands up Hermione’s sides. He licked his lips before moving down to kiss her, knowing, like him, she relished in the taste of herself on her lover. He shifted and entered her while she was distracted by his dancing tongue. She arched her back at his entrance and took in a large breath. Draco moaned deeply, stilling himself once he filled her. He wanted this to last.

He wanted her to be sure of his love.

Hermione began working her muscles, urging him to move. She knew he was ready. He was waiting for her to urge him on, like he always did.

At the slow contractions of her inner walls, Draco began to move. Their hips’ rhythms soon matched and he was able to look at her, watch her face flush with pleasure. Her lips parted, opening a gateway for the small mewls and moans escaping her throat. It never ceased to delight him that he was the cause of those sounds.

Hermione looked up at Draco. Usually, she loved to watch him entering and exiting her, becoming transfixed by the sight. But tonight she watched his face as he watched hers. His cheeks were tinged pink and sweat was gleaming across the top of his forehead. The white blonde strands were now sticking up in multiple directions becoming the “fuck-me” style she loved. She had begged him on more than one occasion to wear his hair this way and that earned her a sneer of disgust because he would look as unkempt and poor as Potter.

She reached up and traced the line of his jaw, flicking her thumb across his full lower lip. He pressed a kiss to the pad and lowered himself so their faces were even closer and their bodies were pressed together. He continued to move inside of her, wishing he could live in this intimacy with her for all of his days.

Hermione could feel Draco’s body tensing, her own responding to him with her clit now being stimulated by his pelvis pressing into her over and over again. His groans became more pronounced while her breaths became short, anticipating the waves of pleasure about to come crashing over them both.

Draco sped up his thrusts feeling the tell tale sign of pressure in his lower back and groin.

“Come with me. I need you to come with me.”

His chest rumbled against hers as he delivered his breathy command. Draco reached between them and worked her clit with his thumb. Hermione’s lips parted and her body tensed as her walls contracted. Draco thrust into her as he came, the words, “I love you” coming as a chant while he emptied himself in her heat.

She chorused his “I love yous” with his name, “Draco, Draco, Dray I love you, I love you.”

He pressed his lips softly all around her face, tasting her sweat. Neither one moved for a long time, neither one wanting to be the first to pull away. He shifted them onto their sides and kept her body close to his as his cock began to soften and slip away from her warmth. He held onto her as if she were the last ray of sunshine the earth would ever absorb.

The moment was fast approaching, and if he didn’t move quickly, he would never be able to overpower her.

Hermione looked up, with lidded eyes, tired, smug. “I knew you loved me.”

Draco smiled for an instant before the reality of what the next second entailed took hold of him again.

Hermione’s eyebrows softly furrowed as Draco whispered, his eyes shining, “I’m so sorry.”

“Stupify!”

Hermione’s lovely face stilled instantly, her brows still holding their furrow of confusion.

Draco hurriedly dressed. He pulled the white sheet around Hermione and kissed her lips softly. He touched the letter on her nightstand and left, heading for the Room of Hidden Things.

 


	2. Reading the Letter: The Dynamic Shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hermione learns that Draco was tasked with killing Dumbledore, she returns to her room, exhausted, to read the letter Draco left for her. In this flashback, we learn how Draco's role in Hermione's life shifted from tormentor to a little more than friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the suggestion of winchestermellarkwriter, I decided to write a series of flashbacks as Hermione reads her letter from Draco. Comments are welcome, and please let me know if anything is so out of whack that it distracts from the story.

It was done, and Hermione was left with an altered worldview thanks to Draco’s betrayal. She had never had a broken heart and always scoffed at the girls who moaned over their latest breakups, dramatically declaring their lives were over so bring on the No Melt Ice Cream.

How laughable! If only they knew that a real broken heart meant that you would never again see the world in the same way, that a significant piece of light in your world was snuffed out.

Merlin love Luna Lovegood, though, for not asking why Hermione was stupefied in her bed wearing nothing but a sheet. She was certain she would have to explain eventually. Maybe. This was Luna Lovegood, after all.

Hermione’s mind ran through every interaction with Draco during their sixth year, trying to reconcile how it could have possibly ended like this. She knew it would end; that was inevitable given their history, their families, and Draco’s unwavering aversion towards Harry. But what hurt the most was that tonight that small piece of hope she carried deep in her heart that Draco would continue to change, that Draco would go against his family and do what was right, or at the very least, do nothing to help Voldemort, was dead. That bright, intoxicating hope that had had become an effulgent, almost corporeal idea as their relationship grew had instantly turned black and toxic and fell, shattering into infinite pieces. He told her he loved her, and then he killed their Headmaster. It didn’t matter that Snape was the one to cast the Killing Curse- Dumbledore’s death was caused by Malfoy’s hand.

Hermione also felt something that was nearly as unbearable for her as a broken heart-- stupidity. Harry was so very right, and she was so very wrong. Draco had been marked as a Death Eater and had been planning something for the entire year. And she, the cleverest witch in their year, never knew. Draco must have enchanted the mark so it wouldn’t appear to her, and she was so in love with him that even a crude spell would have worked.

It was mid-morning by the time she left the hospital wing. Hermione survived the battle unscathed, save for a few bumps and bruises from dodging curses thrown by Death Eaters. Because of Draco, Hermione had entirely missed crossing paths with Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione’s heart ached for Bill, but seeing Fleur’s unadulterated love for the eldest Weasley sent her running as soon as Madam Pomfrey allowed her to go.

Stupid. She was so fucking stupid.

Hermione made her way quickly through the halls that were now filled with teary-eyed students, wandering aimlessly, or clustered in intimate bunches crying, all mourning the loss of their beloved Headmaster.

By the time Hermione reached her room, her legs felt like lead. She was dirty, tired, and utterly miserable. She showered and spent entirely too long standing under the water, hoping that it would wash away more than just the superficial remnants of the night’s catastrophe.

She wanted to cry, but her chest felt too tight, like she couldn’t take a proper breath. Her tears were just not ready to fall.

Once she finished her shower and dressed in an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms, she eyed her bed and was assaulted by the final memory she made with Draco. Her chest became impossibly tight and her eyes welled with tears. She hugged herself as the corners of her mouth deepened into a frown.

He loved her.

She shuddered and drew her arms even tighter against herself as she remembered their night together, the way he looked, standing in the door—

The letter!

Hermione’s heart raced as she eyed the obscenely white parchment on her nightstand. She hesitated, only a moment, before opening the envelope.

With trembling hands, she began to read:

_**Granger,** _

_**It’s been a long time since I’ve called you that, even in my mind, but I can’t think of a better opening line for the hardest truth I’ve ever had to face. My life had already irrevocably changed before this year, but as I write this, you need to know that now it is my heart that has irrevocably changed. Fate is a fickle god, Granger, and more often than not, a cruel one.** _

_**Imagine, you, with your nose stuck in a book, walking square into none other than myself and upending my entire worldview.** _

  
Hermione looked up from the letter and a smile dared to play with her lips as the memory came rushing to the surface of her mind.

* * *

Hermione was furious. How on earth could Harry outbrew her? He had never shown any particular aptitude for potion making before. She huffed and forced her eyes back to the start of the spell to try to work out what she did wrong.

It was late, and Hermione had neglected to do her sweeps as a prefect because she got caught up in her Potions’ book. She figured she could do a quick round on the way back to her room.

The last thing she was expecting was to end up with a face full of Malfoy.

“Watch where you’re going, Granger!” Malfoy admonished her, but something in the timber of his voice brought her quickly out of her daze.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, forgetting that this question wasn’t exactly a normal part of their dynamic.

Hermione watched as Malfoy’s face seemed to literally tear in two at his inability to decide whether to call her a mudblood and stomp away or to actually respond, like a normal human. He couldn’t believe that he found himself wanting to talk to her, to tell someone, something about how terrible his life had become.

Instead, he opted for a third, safe method- a change of topic.

“Why are you so engrossed in a Potions’ book? As you’ve let the entire school know, you are superior in every subject ever invented by wizarding kind.”

Hermione, exasperated by her inability to figure out how Harry had beat her, confessed, “I can’t figure out why Harry’s potion was better than mine. I did everything properly. Everything!”

Malfoy chuckled, “Not everyone can be superior 100% of the time. Well, unless you’re superior looking, like me. That’s a daily given.”

Hermione surprised herself and Malfoy by actually laughing. “I do not doubt your superiority complex, Malfoy. Ever.”

“It’s not a complex. Some of us are just born superior. Call it fate, if you will.” Malfoy reached for her book, “Here, let me see. Draught of Living Death, correct?”

She handed the book over while stating that if he had been in class, he would have known that the Draught of Living Death was the potion they brewed.

Malfoy ignored her remark and instead told her, “You probably followed this exactly, because that’s what you do as Hermione Granger. The thing is, potions is something that you feel. For example, if you followed this and didn’t take into account that the Sopophorous bean actually releases more juice when crushed rather than cut, the final color of your potion would be a few shades too light.”

Hermione gaped at Draco. “That’s exactly what was wrong with my potion.”

“See? I don’t need to go to that distasteful man’s class to pass my lessons.”

“What about the Wiggenweld potion? Slughorn alluded that we would be making it in class after we completed our essays on the Draught.”

Draco flipped a few pages forward and looked through the ingredient list, ticking off possible tweaks for the items. Hermione swore and made him stop until she dug her quill out of her bag.

“Okay, can you start again?”

Draco, for reasons unknown, did.

It wasn’t long until Hermione began seeking Draco out, secretly, of course, to pick his brain. If there was anything in the world that qualified as neutral ground between Granger and Malfoy, it was academics. Their studies were safe places of discussion because most academics didn’t involve politics or personal matters. Their meetings were strictly technical, and in trade, Hermione would give Draco her notes to catch up on all of his missed classwork. It burned at the edge of her mind to ask him why he was missing so much class time, but she didn’t want to risk losing his insights on potions. For the sake of knowledge, and because her potion brewing was improving, Hermione let it go.

They met in cobwebbed classrooms, quiet places in the castle where students didn’t often venture in the event that they would be caught unawares by Peeves or something else that had long ago decided it didn’t want the presence of noisy teenagers mucking about where it rested. It was more of a feeling of negative energy, really, but neither Hermione nor Draco seemed to care. Feelings weren’t their forte.

They sometimes just sat in companionable silence, working. Draco was so much smarter than he ever let anyone know. Hermione actually felt challenged by him and wondered why he never let this side of himself show.

This went on for a few weeks, and as it did, and without either of them noticing, their relationship began to shift. Their discussions about academics occasionally bled into politics and the world. Draco mostly listened as Hermione talked about what she noticed, and mostly about what she feared. At times, he found himself agreeing with her and when he verbalized those agreements, he couldn’t help but respond to the way Hermione smiled at him.

One day, Draco showed up for a study session to find Hermione sniffling into her parchment, abysmally pretending that nothing was wrong. Draco thought he could ignore her snuffling, but soon grew exasperated.

“Either tell me why the world is ending, or leave. I can’t possibly concentrate when you keep attempting to ‘discreetly’ sniffle.”

Hermione eyed Draco. Her smoky brown, teary eyes meeting his wintery grey ones.

“Unfortunately, I’m a girl.”

Draco eyed her suspiciously before drawling, “Ye-es, and I’m a boy. However, I don’t really see what is so unfortunate about you being a girl?”

“I mean emotionally. I never thought I was really that sensitive. I keep a cool head about these things, you know. Boys will be boys, and honestly they are usually just ridiculous prats!”

“Granger, what are you going on about? Is this a new way to insult me?”

“It’s not about you, Malfoy. It’s about boys in general. I don’t understand. How can someone like, like Lavender Brown, be so desirable?”

“So, this is about Weaselby.”

Hermione shot Draco a look that would’ve made a normal person run for the Forbidden Forest. Instead, Draco fixed his gaze on hers and didn’t waver. Hermione, too tired to fight back, lowered her eyes and whispered, “Why aren’t I desirable?”

Draco suddenly felt like the air in the room was running out. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair until he couldn’t stand to sit and sprung up, robes billowing ala Professor Snape as he whisked to stand by the window. He didn’t look at her as he said it, but Hermione could feel his honesty as he spoke.

“Granger, there’s nothing undesirable about you. It’s them- well him, your Weaselby. He’s a. . . a boy.” Draco moved his hands as he spoke, seemingly to the window.

“We all go through it. Realizing that we can get a girl, so we attempt to get as many as possible. It’s more about pride than taking care to choose someone worthy or ready for our affections. It’s more about the act of. . . obtaining to prove your status. I know that sounds awful, but I think it sums up what being a boy is really about.”

Hermione was staring at the back of Draco’s head as he spoke, unsure that this moment was even real. Draco Malfoy had said that there was nothing undesirable about her.

“Not even my filthy blood, Malfoy?”

Draco stiffened and stood still, so still that Hermione wasn’t sure whether or not he was still breathing.

The silence grew until it was palpable, and only then did Draco whisper, “I’m sorry.” For all that I did to you. I was. . . a boy at best. A bigot at worst.”

Hermione stood and slowly made her way to Draco until she was standing close enough to touch him, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she asked, in a low, even voice, “Is there any chance at all that you will tell me what’s brought about this change in you? What makes you not such ‘a boy’ any longer?”

Draco turned to face her with quiet resolve.

“Grang—Hermione, I can’t. Ever. So, please don’t ask me again. What I can tell you is that I have changed, grown up, if you will. It’s too late for me to show this face to the world, but if I can show it to you, at least someone will know that I’m not the same ugly natured boy I used to be.”

Draco turned to face Hermione, so close that she could see the dark blue limbal ring that outlined Malfoy’s grey eyes, and so close that she could watch as his pupils dilated as he said, “And I’m glad that someone is you because, as I said before, there is absolutely nothing undesirable about you.”

It happened in an instant. He watched the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes disappear as her pupils grew to match his. She saw right through him, and she knew that he was telling her the truth. This wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy who had tormented her and her friends. This was someone else, someone who had been aged and had seen things that forever altered his being.

She couldn’t help her body’s reaction to his proximity and his intensity. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and in the next instant he had kissed her. A quick, full kiss of lips on lips, and as soon as it was done, he was gone, leaving Hermione alone, in a cobwebbed room, to wonder just who this Draco Malfoy was.


	3. Reading the Letter: School Rules are Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione flashes back to the first time she snuck into Draco's dorm. It was all his fault, of course.

Hermione touched her lips, remembering that first kiss, losing herself, for just a sweet moment to the memory. The letter, however, proved to be an anchor, a tangible object drawing her back to the reality of her heartache. Hermione’s eyes flew over the next few lines of the letter:

**_And in the process, you made me break a few school rules, starting with sneaking into my dorm. I often think of how differently everything would have turned out if you hadn't chosen to follow me that night. So, I ask again: Isn't fate such a funny sort of thing?_ **

 * * *

Hermione was spending more time watching the sky darken through the library window than working on her Transfiguration homework. In the past two weeks, Hannah Abbott’s mother was killed, Eloise Midgen was pulled from school, and Stan Shunpike was arrested. Hogwarts could no longer exist in its own bubble as if it were suspended in time away from the horrors of the rise of Voldemort.

Hermione’s ruminations circled back to school, and she again thought about how Harry was superseding her potions’ brewing; she did not approve of his continued use of the Half-Blood Prince’s book and not just because of his newfound academic prowess. Hermione worried about books that held spells over their owners, like Tom Riddle’s diary.

It had also been two weeks since she and Draco Malfoy kissed. But she was not going to think about that, no, not ever again. And she definitely wasn’t going to think about how sad his face looked when he had apologized for his past treatment of her. And she definitely was not going to think about the way he smelled, or how soft his lips felt as they pressed against hers. No, absolutely not.

So, imagine how startled Hermione was when the boy, whom she was absolutely not thinking about, hissed in her ear, “I saw what you did you today, Granger.”

The noise that escaped Hermione’s lips was less than dignified as she scolded Malfoy for scaring her. Her eyes darted around the room and she realized that they were alone, save for Madame Pince who occasionally fluttered by while shelving books.

“May I ask to what you are referring, Malfoy?” Hermione sat straight, attempting to make her face an unreadable mask because she knew exactly to what Malfoy was referring.

“I find it interesting that you would help out the boy who had reduced you to a pile of sniffles.”

Draco sat down across from Hermione, locking his eyes with hers. She could have sworn that she saw the corners of his lips twitch upward.

 “I also find it interesting that you have been making a lot of effort to avoid me.”

Hermione sighed and said, “I’ve been busy and it’s not like I can just waltz up to you at any time and say, ‘How’s life, Malfoy’?”

Draco smirked, “Point taken, but you avoided my first interesting observation.”

“I still do not know what you’re talking—“

“Don’t patronize me, Granger. You confunded McLaggen during tryouts so your ‘boyfriend’ could be Keeper.”

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“I would hope not since he made you cry, Granger. Anyone who makes you cry isn’t worth your time.”

Hermione sat in a stunned silence. Draco Malfoy was sitting across from her in the library giving her advice about choosing a worthy boyfriend. She wasn’t entirely certain, now, that her Confundus Charm hadn’t backfired and struck herself.

“Thanks for the advice, Malfoy. Can I ask why you feel the need to pretend to care about my well-being?”

All traces of Draco’s friendly demeanor dissipated at her words. He pushed back his chair and shook his head at her before walking quickly away, leaving her to watch, mouth slightly agape.

Hermione was mystified. _What on earth was he playing at? Surely he didn’t take the kiss seriously. It was a. . . fluke._ _A moment never again to be repeated._ And that was what she had been telling herself for the last few weeks. She knew that if she let herself believe that it was genuine, for even a minute, she would end up falling down a rabbit hole of doom. She could never be with him; the thought of telling Harry and Ron that she had decided to date Draco Malfoy when Harry was already on a tirade to crucify that same Draco Malfoy almost made her laugh aloud.

But really, these days, everyone seemed to have a secret. What could getting to know Draco better really hurt? If anything, Hermione could figure out whether Harry’s accusations had any ground.

And apparently, this potential relationship would need to start with an apology from her.

Hermione gathered up her belongings and left the library to look for Draco. She figured that if she hurried, she could catch him if he was on his way back to Slytherin’s dormitory.

Hermione was right, and she caught up to Draco just outside of the entrance wall.

“Malfoy! Malfoy!” She huffed, “Draco!”

He turned, his expression neutral.

“I’m sorry, Draco, for what I said in the library. You were trying to be—“

The wall was beginning to swing outward, and Draco moved swiftly, tapping Hermione on the head. She felt the tell-tale sign of a Disillusionment Charm- it was as if a giant egg had been cracked over her skull, and the egg white was running down her body.

“Don’t move,” Draco hissed.

“Oh- hello Draco,” a young, pretty witch said.

“Astoria. Good evening.”

Astoria smiled shyly and flitted down the hall before Draco motioned for Hermione to follow him with a tilt of his head. She felt giddy at the prospect of seeing inside the dorm with her own eyes. Harry and Ron had offered a detailed description after their adventure with the Polyjuice Potion, but Hermione could only imagine the historical details that they didn’t even bother to notice.

Draco stood aside just enough to feel Hermione slide by him. As she passed, he whispered for her to stay close and limit her movements.

Hermione tried very hard not to whip her head back and forth in an attempt to take in the majestic common room, forcing only her eyes to dart to and fro. Draco seemed to be taking his time, stopping when Goyle asked him if he went off to the kitchens since he skipped supper.

The common room was amazing. Luxurious was an understatement, and Hermione wondered if the leather sofas and supple high wingback chairs had always been a part of the décor or if parents had donated the items through the years so their children wouldn’t miss the luxuries of home. The amount of green was actually tasteful, and the silver accents brought out a monetary, yet homey feel.

Draco was moving again, presumably toward his room. Hermione followed, her heart skipping a beat at what she now realized was about to happen.

She was going to see where Draco Malfoy slept.

The boy’s dormitory was far neater than she had ever seen Harry and Ron’s. It seemed to house a singular mini-common room with sofas and coffee tables, and yet another fireplace. There were five separate doors, each with a boy’s name etched in silver writing on the door. Draco opened his and motioned for Hermione to follow him.

Once he closed the door, he reached out with his wand and ended the charm.

Hermione was too busy looking at everything to even notice the charm had been lifted. She took in the sight of his fairly modest, pristine room. The bed was of course cloaked in a mix of green, silver, and black. There was a full length window that must have mirrored whatever sight the person wanted. Currently, the window appeared to look out over a large, well-kept garden where white peacocks shimmied about under a full moon.

Hermione turned back with a quizzical look, and Draco stated, “My view at home.”

The room was relatively sparse. Draco’s chest was closed at the foot of his bed. There was a comfortable looking chair in the corner paired with a bookshelf and a reading lamp on a small table. There was a small, dimly lit fire place which was currently the only source of light in Draco’s room.

He walked over and aimed a spell to stoke the fire, causing the light to emit to a warm glow that expanded to light all of his room.

On the opposite side of the room was a small closet, which Hermione peaked in as she walked toward a chest of drawers with a small, framed family portrait on top. The picture was seemingly taken when Draco was around 10 or 11 years old. Draco moved to stand beside Hermione as she studied the photograph, and Draco explained that it was customary for the Malfoy’s to sit for a portrait on the day their child received their Hogwarts letter. Draco looked happy. His parents looked happy, too.

“So, no private toilet? That was always a hot topic of speculation when the subject of the Slytherin dorms arose.”

“I wish. Do you have any idea what it is like to share a bathroom with Crabbe and Goyle? Most mornings, I get up hours before school starts to complete my routine. I actually feel a bit bad for the house-elves that clean up after them.”

Hermione couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her throat, and she mentally filed away Draco’s reference to house-elves. It would be interesting to get a wealthy, pure-blood’s perspective on the life of a house-elf, not to mention find out what Draco knew about Dobby.

Draco walked into his closet and shouted out to Hermione, “You may as well get comfortable. I’m not going to be able to sneak you out until at least midnight. My Disillusionment Charm is spotty at best. We lucked out tonight that no one clever was in the common room.”

He emerged wearing what Hermione considered something casual for Draco. He had removed his school robes and uniform and was now in tan colored slacks and a black turtleneck sweater. He had discarded his shoes as well, his feet clad in black socks.  

Hermione had changed out of her uniform before heading to the library in her favorite jeans, a light blue sweater, and sneakers. She toed off her shoes and placed them neatly by the fireplace. Her hair was currently in a disheveled bun, so she reached up to undo the clasp of her barrette, shaking out her hair. She ran her fingers across her scalp, making sure her hair was parted slightly to the left as per usual.

Draco watched her every movement which was not unnoticed by Hermione. “It hurts, being pinned up all day.”

“Then why pin it up? It’s beautiful as it is now.”

“I supposed it’s bothersome when I’m trying to read. And thank you- I guess your opinion of me has changed since you used to say—”

“Granger. If you’re going to bring up every nasty thing I’ve ever said, we will be here until morning. If you need to do that and have me apologize for every insult one by one, I will.”

Hermione read the expression on Draco’s face as the same one he had the day that he kissed her. Draco Malfoy looked particularly vulnerable when he was telling the truth, probably because it didn’t happen often. Hermione thought that to be a sad way to live- always having to wear a mask.

“Or,” Hermione said, “We can agree to leave the past where it belongs.”

“I am willing.”

“Okay. It’s agreed. The past is done. No need to dwell,” Hermione stated.

Draco moved to his bed and sprawled out in the middle, hands behind his head as he laid propped up on his pillows.

“So, I know that your actions during tryouts today are technically in the past, but I’m burning with curiosity. Why did you help the Weasel? Oh- and sorry, the accommodations inside of one’s bedroom are rather limited. You’re welcome to sit on the bed.”

Hermione eyed the bed and settled for a compromise. She summoned over the chair and sat, her feet propped up on Draco’s bed.

He was still staring straight above, but she saw him smile at her choice.

“I don’t bite, Granger.”

“But you do ask rather impossible to answer questions.”

“I thought you liked that I challenged you.”

“The subject matter is a bit different than what I’m used to when it comes to our conversations. But I’ll answer only if you swear on something dear to you that you will never, ever breathe a word of it.”

Hermione focused her intense gaze on Draco as he closed his eyes and said, “I solemnly swear on my own mother’s life that I will never breathe a word of your duplicitous action and its rationale.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head at Draco’s dramatics. She offered her explanation in a rush of words.

“I thought that if Ron were happy and not so worried about Quidditch that he would pay more attention to me. And I don’t just mean that in a romantic sort of way. Things are different this year. It feels like we are pulling in different directions. Harry and Ron have more common interests, and it makes me feel like an outsider. And back to the romantic thing- I don’t even really know if that’s what I’m looking for from him, but I couldn’t find out until he was less distracted. Although, I suspect he may never be less distracted. He has the attention span of a goldfish.”

Hermione realized that she had just babbled perhaps one of her more intimate secrets to none other than Draco Malfoy. Now there was really no place to go other than forward.

“Can I ask you something without you thinking it’s me being a prat?”

Hermione chuckled, then bit her lip, a little afraid of what he wanted to know. “Alright.”

“Have you and Potter ever, uh, dated?”

“Oh! Date Harry? Goodness, no. I have never thought of Harry as anything more than a friend. I appreciate that he’s nice looking, but it, you know that ‘it’ sort of feeling, just isn’t there. Also, what did your little ‘uh’ mean? Are you implying that I’m the sort to spend an evening in the Astronomy Tower just for fun?”

Draco laughed loudly. “Merlin, no, Granger. Not you.”

“What does that mean? Am I—”

Draco huffed to interrupt her and rolled to his side so he was facing Hermione, who was now sitting straight in the chair, feet planted, looking as if she were about to pounce.

“I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t with you, aren’t I? Or are you like this with everyone?”

“Like what?”

“Constantly on the defense- on guard, as if you don’t trust anyone.”

Hermione sank back into the chair, defeated. Maybe that was why her friends had pulled away from her. No one likes to feel like they have to pound against a barricade just to get a foot in the door. Hermione had always walled herself off from others because she was who she was. It was difficult to be a smart, assertive girl in any society.

“I guess I need to work on that,” Hermione acquiesced.

“You can practice with me,” Draco stated.

“You know that’s a two-way street, Malfoy. I’m not going to let you in, if you don’t let me in.”

“I’m aware, and my life is an open book to you. Don’t get too excited over the analogy, now,” Draco teased.

“Believe it or not, there is more to me than just books and studying,” Hermione retorted.

“Oh really? What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, Granger, and your antics with Potter don’t count.”

“Mmm, of course a Malfoy wouldn’t find breaking rules to save the world to be a thing of merit,” Hermione teased, pausing though, worried she had gone too far, yet again.

Draco surprised her by grinning, and Hermione couldn’t help but love the way his face looked when he truly smiled.

“Touché. My family isn’t exactly known to have bravado coursing through their veins. We are . . . more practical than most. However, don’t avoid the subject. Tell me something interesting.”

“I can’t stop thinking about our kiss a few weeks ago.”

Draco froze. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that.

Hermione continued, “I guess it doesn’t classify as ‘naughty’ unless you think of it from the standpoint of who I am. Harry Potter’s best friend, snogged in an old classroom by the enemy.”

Draco was jarred out of his surprise by her use of the word, “enemy.” Hermione could easily read the hurt echoing across his fine features.

“Is that how you see me? As the enemy?”

“I used to -in the past- but as of late, I’m not sure how I see you. All I keep wondering is why you kissed me. Maybe if I had an answer, I could figure out how I see you now.”

“I kissed you because you are incredibly kissable, Granger. I’m sorry no one has told you that before.”

“They have.”

“Excuse me?”

Hermione laughed, full and throaty. “Oh my god. Did you think that was my first kiss?”

Hermione continued to laugh and Draco glared.

“Who was it, then?” He snapped.

“Viktor Krum. Well, he was my first real kiss.” Hermione answered as her laugh tapered.

Draco sat up, running his hands through his hair. “I thought that was a rumor.”

“Yes. Imagine- a little bookworm like me capturing the attention of a world-renowned Quidditch superstar.” Hermione was looking at Draco with twinkling eyes, delighted that she had actually shared something even more unexpected with him.

“I told you- there’s more to me than books.”

Draco sat up and slid to the side of the bed so that he was now facing Hermione.

“You’re full of surprises.”

“And the night is still young, isn’t it?” Hermione questioned and leaned forward in the chair. She wanted Draco to kiss her again. She needed to know if she was truly attracted to him or simply intrigued.

Draco stood and held his hands out to Hermione. She took them and stood. He let their hands linger like that for a moment, before moving his hands, one to her waist, the other to back of her head. Hermione placed both of her hands lightly on his waist and waited, looking up into his eyes.

“May I kiss you again?” Draco asked.

“Yes.”

Draco bent his head and grazed Hermione’s lips. He pulled her closer until their bodies were flush. Hermione moved her hands to Draco’s back.

At first, their kiss was tentative. All lips and small nips, but then Draco traced his tongue across Hermione’s lower lip and she opened her mouth to him. They kissed in earnest, tongue and teeth and want. Draco buried his hand in Hermione’s hair, loving the feel of the thick, silky curls.

Hermione made the first move to push Draco back toward the bed. He groaned and complied, lying back on the comforter. Hermione climbed in next to him, angling one of her legs between his. She wasn’t ready for full body contact with him, so halfway seemed safe. She mimicked his earlier gesture by running her hand through his hair. She smiled as it mussed, liking seeing the perfect Draco Malfoy a little disheveled. Draco pushed Hermione’s hair to one side and pulled her back down to continue their heated kissing.

 

Hermione arrived back to Gryffindor’s tower at half past midnight. Her lips were swollen from kisses and she was grinning like a madman. She, Hermione Granger, had just spent an evening snogging Draco Malfoy.

The next day, Mr. Weasley and the Ministry raided Malfoy Manor. Hermione’s hands shook as she read the paper.


	4. Reading the Letter: Telling Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione continues her letter, reflecting on the lies she told herself, and the lies that Draco carried with him.

_**For the longest time, I blamed Fate for my life because the possibility of accepting that I was composed of a nonredeemable darkness was my nightmare. Lying to you, the one person who made me feel like maybe, just maybe it wasn’t too late for me, ensured that my path for redemption was truly barred.** _

 

Hermione felt as if she were being torn in two. For the first time, her intimate memories with Draco were merging with the horrors of the reality she ignored. It was all so clear now—how could she have missed those lies? Katie Bell. The Room of Requirement. Slughorn’s Christmas party. Lies, lies, lies.

* * *

 

The first Hogsmeade weekend was usually great fun for the Trio, and Hermione had been looking forward to this time with her friends as a way to return to some normalcy. Keeping her whatever you want to call it because it was so _not_ a relationship with Draco a secret made her feel guilty. Despite that guilty feeling, Hermione wasn’t able to quit him. She told herself that she was doing it for the greater good- to prove Harry wrong and to help Draco find whatever redeeming quality for which he seemed to be searching. It most definitely was _not_ because Hermione had feelings for Draco. 

Hermione knew Draco had detention with Professor McGonagall, so there was no chance of running into him at Hogsmeade. That information freed Hermione to focus on her friends, so she linked her arm with Harry’s and slyly whispered that Ginny would be stopping off at Honeyduke’s straightaway.

“Why do I care?” Harry bristled as a slight blush crawled up his neck.

Hermione giggled, “I don’t know, Harry. Just thought you ought to know.”  

Harry shot her a glance and couldn’t stop the small grin from forming.

“Oi. What are you two going on about?” Ron interrupted, seemingly a little jealous at their contact and their smiles.

Hermione was about to teasingly answer Ron when Harry stopped dead. Hermione felt the surge of anger that ran through his body as he spotted Mundungus Fletcher selling belongings from Sirius’s house—Harry’s house.

Before she could even pull out her wand, Harry had a two fistfuls of Mundungus’ coat and had slammed him into the side of The Hog’s Head. Harry raged at Mundungus who quickly disapperated just as a grizzly bartender poked his head out to see what the fuss was.

Harry’s run-in with Mundungus had interceded on normalcy, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry resigned to calling it quits and heading back to the castle.

“Harry, I’m sorry about Mundungus,” Hermione began, “But you shouldn’t have lost your temper like that.”

Harry glanced at Hermione’s worried face and sighed, “I know. It’s just that sometimes, I feel like I’m not really my—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron whispered under his breath as the three of them were stopped in their tracks, staring as Katie Bell was magically suspended in the air, while her friend tried to hold on to her, grasping her ankles. Katie’s face was locked in an expression that would haunt all three of them for a lifetime. It looked as if Katie were suspended in an eternal Cruciatus Curse.

Hermione saw Ron move to pick up the package that was lying on the ground and yelled for him to stop. Harry eyed the necklace, narrowed his eyes, and then ran for help. Hermione used her wand to wrap the packaging back around the necklace, carefully ensuring no part of it was exposed before picking it up. Harry returned with Hagrid, and they hurriedly followed him to the castle.

The Trio watched as Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall examined the necklace. Once Professor McGonagall thanked the three of them for thinking quickly and getting Katie help, she shooed them away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Harry repeated himself, “Malfoy. Malfoy did it.”

Hermione rounded on Harry, but it was actually Ron who spoke first.

“Listen Harry, Malfoy is the biggest git we all know, but even he wouldn’t have done something like this. You heard McGonagall. He was in detention with her. Let it go, mate.”

Harry said flatly, “You’re wrong.” He stormed towards the dormitory, leaving Hermione and Ron both incredulously staring after him.

Ron cleared his throat, “That was something, wasn’t it? First Mundungus, now Malfoy.”

For the first time, while looking at Ron, Hermione realized she wasn’t angry at him anymore. She didn’t feel hurt or betrayed by his flirtations with Lavender. This realization both comforted her and filled her with a sense of doom. If she could look at Ron like her best friend again, that meant that she had actual feelings for Draco and she had been telling herself some spectacular lies as of late.

Hermione and Ron turned to follow in Harry’s wake, recapping the trip to Hogsmeade and wondering what would happen to Katie, until a first-year-looking student that neither of them knew skipped up to Hermione and handed her a white envelope.

“Ta!” the small girl said, flitting away as happily as she had flitted to them.

“What’s that about?” Ron asked.

Hermione, casually sliding the envelope into her pocket, lied, “I’ve been helping Professor Babbling by tutoring some of the third years. This is my list of names for the week.”

“Well, that explains why you’re always off in the library. Oh, wait, that’s because you’re Hermione Granger,” Ron said with such sarcasm the words practically oozed from his mouth.

Hermione laughed softly and nudged Ron’s shoulder, thankful for the warm exchange that seemed to signal things would return to normal between them.

What Hermione didn’t notice was that the small girl merely turned a corner before returning to the sender of the note. As Draco peeked around the corner to make sure the first-year was actually capable of following a simple set of directions, he saw the friendly exchange between Hermione and Ron, causing his disaster of a day to darken just a little more.

 

 

After saying goodbye to Ron, Hermione jogged up to her room, flopped onto her bed and tore into the envelope. As always, there was a place and time written in the impeccable hand of Draco Malfoy.

He wanted to see her tonight.

Hermione laid back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to see him. She wanted to kiss him until she forgot how horribly twisted in pain Katie’s face was and she wanted to tell him about what she saw. There was a small part of her that wondered if Harry’s instinct was correct. He insisted that it was the same necklace that he saw in Borgin and Burkes, but what did that really mean? Draco couldn’t be in two places at once, and how would he even get something like that into the castle past the Secrecy Sensors? And why would he hurt Katie Bell? Curse her over Quidditch? Draco told Hermione that he wasn’t even really into the sport anymore because the rivalry seemed silly to him this year. Frankly, one of her favorite things about spending time with Draco was that he’d rather talk about books than Quidditch.

But Harry’s credibility was also shot in Hermione’s mind when he physically attacked Mundungus over the nicking of Sirius’s things. It was rare for Harry to lose control like that and it made Hermione uneasy. She promised herself to continue the conversation that began as they walked back to the castle. Hermione needed to be a better friend. She couldn’t let Draco distract her from that. Speaking of said distraction, she might as well get her homework finished so she could enjoy her time with him this evening.

 

 

Hermione borrowed Harry’s invisibility cloak, claiming that she needed to spend some after-hours time in the library. Thankful that she wasn’t insisting that he study with her, Harry offered up his cloak and then re-joined Ron by the fire.

Hermione slipped on the cloak and made her way toward the dungeons, taking a left to meet Draco where he instructed, rather than making the right that would have lead her down the steps to Slytherin’s dormitory. It was actually much easier to meet in old rooms at this end of the castle because the Slytherins were protective enough of their territory that most other houses didn’t wander this way.

Hermione entered the room, surprised to see that it was empty. She waited for an hour before finally giving up and stalking away. Draco had never missed one of their meetings and she couldn’t figure out what had happened to keep him away. She paused, comically with her foot about to ascend the final stair before she realized how perfectly invisible she was and how perfectly easy it would be to sneak into Draco’s room and confront him.

Hermione wheeled around and marched herself straight to the Slytherin entrance wall.

“Snakewood,” she hissed.

It swung open, and she darted into the hall that lead to the common room. A few students were lounging around, but none of them were sporting white-blonde hair. Hermione assumed Draco was in his dorm, so with a hummingbird-heartbeat, she wound her way to the front of his door. She stared at his name plate for a full minute, deciding whether to knock, or to burst in and tear off the cloak in a rather dramatic fashion. Her dreadful mood decided on the latter, but as she attempted to turn the door knob she found that it was locked.

“Damn.”

She thought about using Alohomora, but wasn’t sure if Draco had placed any sort of protection spells on his room. It _was_ Malfoy she was talking about, and his privacy was one of the things that he treasured more than his bloodline. She tapped lightly on the door, not wanting to alert anyone else to her presence.

The door whipped open and Hermione attempted to smoothly dash in while under the cloak, but instead, managed to sidestep at the same time as a very surprised, very half-naked Draco. Hermione’s collision caused the cloak to slip and Draco to gasp before slamming his door shut and turning on her furiously.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Granger? Trying to get the both of us expelled?

“Me?!” You sent me a note and didn’t show!”

“So that gives you a right to barge into my room, concealed—” Draco paused, taking in the fact that Hermione had been perfectly invisible, and the cloak was now perfectly concealing her shoes where it fell, making her look like she was levitating without feet. Draco took a shaky breath, “Concealed in Harry _fucking_ Potter’s invisibility cloak. Get out.”

“Draco—”

“Does that cloak block your hearing as well? Get out.”

“I was worried about you. Why didn’t you show?”

Draco looked up, meeting Hermione’s eyes for the first time since she dropped the cloak. Her face was clearly full of concern and Draco couldn’t decide if that made him happy, or if that made him all the more acutely aware of the hurt he felt as he watched Hermione and Ron laughing together that afternoon.

“I figured that you wouldn’t show up since you and your red-headed boyfriend made up. No need to use me for fun anymore.”

Hermione looked perplexed as she asked, “What are you talking about?”

Draco placed both hands on his hips just above his dark green bath towel and sighed. “I saw you together. I wanted to make sure the girl got the note to you, so I hung back and watched.”

Hermione’s mind was working a mile a minute and her brows were furrowed in absolute concentration. She replayed the entire scene in her mind and blinked her eyes in confusion before carefully choosing her words. She knew whether or not she got through to Draco hinged on what she was about to say.

“I’m sorry that you interpreted my interaction with Ron this afternoon as anything other than friendship. I haven’t forgotten how he made me feel and how you were the one to help me understand it. Ron is my friend. Harry is my friend. What I feel towards you is nothing like what I feel towards them. Coincidently, everything I saw today made me realize how much I like you, Draco. I was devastated when you didn’t show this evening.”

Draco looked up at Hermione and pulled his lips into a firm line of concentration. He met her gaze for a few seconds before popping his lips open and releasing a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. It’s been a long day."

“I’m sorry for barging into your room. And that you had a long day. Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco certainly did not want to talk about it, and he seemed to suddenly become aware that he was standing before _the_ Hermione Granger in nothing but a towel, his hair mussed, and his body glistening in the firelight. The room seemed to tangibly swell with his ego as he pushed back his shoulders, cocked his hip, and raised his brow, smirking.

“And was barging into my room worth it, Miss Granger?”

Hermione, now entirely focused on Draco’s swelling ego, stuttered as she took in the sight before her. “Ye-yes.”

Draco closed the distance between them and captured her lips in a hard kiss. Their kissing had become more urgent as time passed, and it left Hermione in a state of such arousal. She wasn’t certain that she wanted to do anything about that arousal just yet, but every time she was alone with Draco, she was certain she wanted to continue snogging him until she was half-mad.

Hermione tentatively ran her hands down Draco’s smooth chest and abdomen before deepening the kiss by circling his waist and pulling him closer.

“You smell amazing. Well, you always do, but this is new to me.”

Draco laughed, “Well, I would think so since you’ve never caught me just out of the shower before.”

Hermione looked into his darkened grey eyes and asked, “Did you hear about Katie Bell?”

Draco’s expression remained unchanged as he responded, “I did. I don’t really know her, but no one deserves whatever happened to her.”

Hermione recounted her story in a whoosh as she paced around Draco’s room. He took the opportunity to dip into the closet and pull on a pair of black pajama pants. Hermione seated herself on Draco’s bed, looking out the mock-window.

“It was like I could feel that curse. It was dark and thrumming--full of black magic. I’ve fought dark wizards, Draco, but I’ve never felt power like that.”

“That’s the allure.”

Hermione cocked her head and gazed at Draco, a thousand questions on her lips, but for once, none finding their way across her tongue.

Draco sat beside Hermione, one knee folded so his body was slightly angled toward her.

“Dark magic does not feel anything like what we use in our everyday lives. It’s powerful, and wizards are drawn to that sort of power. It makes you feel. . .unchallengeable. Like, no matter what anyone does to stop you, they’ll be doomed to fail.”

Draco took Hermione’s hand as she watched his face, and she was surprised by the sadness she saw. “I have to confess that I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

“Draco—”

“I know it’s selfish, but I don’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Hermione paused and half-smiled before continuing. “Actually, I _did_ get hurt today and _you_ _were_ the cause of it.”

Draco didn’t return her smile and instead looked worried. “What does this mean for us, Hermione, now that we know we can hurt each other?”

The smile no longer lingered on Hermione’s lips as she moved closer to Draco, her face now only a few breaths away from his. She placed her hands on either side of his face, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice aching with sincerity.

Draco’s lips twitched into a smile as he said, “Imagine that. Hermione Granger admitting that she doesn’t know an answer.”

“Prat,” Hermione breathed before pulling Draco’s lips to hers.

Draco let himself fall into the kiss and fall over Hermione as she pulled him to lay on top of her. Hermione’s hands touched Draco everywhere his flesh was exposed. She felt like she was drowning in her own want for him, and she thought that it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. She knew then that she had to stop lying to herself. This thing between her and Draco wasn’t for the greater good—it was for her and for him.

Draco was acutely aware that Hermione’s hands were all over him and that he was clad only in a towel. He needed her, to be engulfed by her warmth and light. For now, he concentrated on the fiery trails her fingertips left as they grazed over his naked torso, sinking into the feeling of her touch and leaving the dark memory of his failure behind him.

Hermione didn’t know what was going to happen, but she certainly knew that there was no way that this Draco Malfoy, this boy that was currently kissing down her neck and whispering that she was wonderful, could have hurt Katie Bell.


	5. Reading the Letter: Telling (More) Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reflects on the time that Draco asked her to meet him outside of a particular room on the seventh floor of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased with this version of Chapter 5. Double the smut warning this time :)

_**For the longest time, I blamed Fate for my troubles because the possibility of accepting that I was composed of an unredeemable darkness was my nightmare. Lying to you, the one person who made me feel like maybe, just maybe it wasn’t too late for me, ensured that my path for redemption was truly barred.** _

Even in a world of actual magic, words held a place of reverence in Hermione’s heart, and now they were failing her, wounding her more deeply as they continued to weave together Hermione’s memories and Draco’s lies.

*** * ***

 

Since it was Gryffindor’s first match against Slytherin, no one noticed as Hermione slipped out of the stands and made her way back to the castle. It was cold, and she was a red and gold blur as she made her way to the familiar location on the seventh floor of the castle. Barnabas the Barmy came into view along with a certain blond Slytherin.

Draco was leaning against the wall beside the portrait, arching a brow in distaste as she approached.

“Is that really necessary?” Draco drawled as he eyed her from head to toe, a look that normally would have Hermione’s heart fluttering if it weren’t already beating so fast from rushing inside.

Hermione took a few more steadying breaths before responding, “Is it really necessary that you insisted on meeting me here during what is supposed to be a _most_ exciting match?”

Draco smiled and rolled his eyes. “Don’t even pretend you are missing something you enjoy.”

Hermione huffed, but couldn’t stop the half smile that popped onto her lips. “Sooo what are we doing here?”

Draco shot Hermione a wicked grin. “Aside from wanting a safe place to snog you senseless, I wanted to show you what the Room looks like to me- why I call it the Room of Hidden Things.”

Hermione frowned a bit, wondering whether she should have talked at such length about the Room and their work as Dumbledore’s Army. During one of their more recent conversations, Draco had expressed his humiliation at having his father arrested after the events at the Ministry. Hermione had seen his expression as a window of opportunity to gauge just how Draco felt about his father’s actions. She knew she was entering a dangerous territory, but the tiny spark of hope that Draco wanted to change for the better had given her the courage she needed to engage.

After their conversation, Hermione felt as if she had just re-played the game of live Wizard’s Chest from First Year. There was no tangible reward, no Philosopher’s Stone, but Hermione did learn something that felt just as valuable. While Draco blamed his public humiliation on Harry, he also blamed his father for endangering his own family’s safety.

_“That was the night that my father changed the future of our family. He endangered my mother and me because of his arrogance and his unwavering belief in The-- in Him. He never thought of the consequences of his failure. Hermione, sometimes . . . sometimes I hate him!”_

Hermione took that opportunity to recount that night in the Ministry in grave detail. She expressed her fear of Lucius and the other Death Eaters, and at being hit by a curse that nearly killed her. When Hermione said that she had to take ten potions a day to stay alive, Draco had pulled her off the bed and into a fierce embrace. He whispered, _“I’m sorry”_ against her hair before kissing her forehead, her lidded eyes, her nose, and her mouth. If Hermione had any doubts left about the legitimacy of Draco’s feelings, they receded into nothingness with each of his tender kisses.

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts as Draco stepped forward, his face locked in concentration while walking past the invisible door three times. As if it had always been there, the door now appeared to Hermione. She followed as Draco turned the knob and entered.

Before her, the Room of Requirement appeared to be in a complete state of chaos. Items were stacked so high they couldn’t have possibly fit inside any castle, let alone held their balance, without a great force of magic. It looked as though every generation of Hogwarts’ students had just dumped their end-of-the-year trunks in this room and took off.

“It doesn’t seem like there is any order, but if you spend enough time walking through the paths, it starts to make a sort of sense. . . .” Draco’s face continued with its mask of concentration as he spoke, and Hermione began to wander through some of the small pathways.

As she made her way, it seemed as though whatever she was concentrating on appeared more readily. For instance, she lightly traced the spine of a very ancient looking book in a language she didn’t understand and more books, similar to its kind seemed to just be there in the next pile.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, startling herself a bit. “I see what you mean. It’s like the Room is reading you, figuring out what you need and making it more available.”

Draco watched Hermione intently and repeated, “Yes. More available. That’s an interesting way to describe it.”

“I wonder, though,” Draco continued, “why it doesn’t just give you what you are looking for? Why bother hiding it in a Room of already Hidden Things?”

Hermione thought for a few minutes before replying, “I suppose that’s the point. The folks who used this Room weren’t exactly looking for a place to showcase their most prized possessions- they were hiding them.”

“So if someone were to want to find something, and they concentrated hard enough, they would be able to retrieve it,” Draco said more to himself than to Hermione.

“I believe so, yes,” Hermione stated. _Hogwarts: A History_ mentions a few things about the Room. I also think I recall seeing a book in the Restricted Section that sounded more like a tabloid than a proper book. It was titled something about the secrets or mysteries of Hogwarts as told through a series of actual encounters.”

“Some things in here are just rubbish. Broken and unfixable,” Draco muttered.

Hermione giggled, “Is this your new hobby? Rather than playing Seeker, you sneak up here to fix people’s broken objects?”

Draco looked at Hermione, unsmiling. Hermione’s grin faded and a look of bewilderment quickly replaced her merriment. It felt as if he were about to tell her something, as if the Room was holding its breath, waiting for what Draco would say next.

Draco rolled his eyes and smirked, breaking the tension. “I do believe I said something about a safe place to kiss you, and possibly assure you that some things in this room are certainly not broken. Functioning quite well, actually.”

Draco’s eyes darkened to a stormy shade of grey as he wrapped his arms around Hermione and kissed her, relishing in the sweetness of her scent.

Hermione squeezed Draco’s biceps as he kissed her, desperate to feel closer to him. There was something about this version of the Room of Requirement that made her feel like Draco was further away from her than before her fated faceplant into his chest at the start of the year.

Draco began to peel away at the layers of Hermione’s clothes, unceremoniously dumping them onto the floor until she was clad only in her jeans and sweater. Both Hermione and Draco were giggling a bit as he fumbled through each layer, leaving him to remark that Hermione was ridiculously overdressed for the occasion.

“It was you who came up with this plan to steal me away for the afternoon. This would’ve been much easier tomorrow morning while everyone had a lie-in after celebrating or mourning the match.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she teased Draco, but he, again, stilled his face and looked at her in that same, underlyingly urgent way as earlier.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Draco confessed as he pulled lightly on one of Hermione’s curls and shook his head slightly, as if dazed by his own feelings.

Hermione’s eyes continued to sparkle as she took in Draco’s pink-tinged cheeks and deliciously wet lips. The pullings of lust were so strong when he let himself be vulnerable. By her hand, rather by her own lips, Draco Malfoy was undone.

Hermione wanted to push Draco onto a bed and _really_ make him come undone, so she was equally surprised and unsurprised when a few steps away she spotted an old couch, large and worn. She expected it to cough up a cloud of dust as she directed Draco to sit, but it didn’t. He was watching her like a mouse watches a hawk.

Hermione smiled just a little wickedly at Draco. She put her hands on his shoulders as she lowered herself onto his lap, pushing her body into his and eliciting a very deep groan from Draco. She tugged just a bit on his hair so he would look up at her, allowing her mouth to descend on his. Her kisses were bold, searing with a confidence that Draco hadn’t yet experienced from Hermione. Then again, most of their encounters still felt like they were only building toward something more intimate, like they were still in an infantile state. But now, Draco felt like this moment, with a lap full of a self-assured Hermione Granger, was definitely building toward an intimacy he had only just begun to dare fantasize about.

Hermione’s lips were currently blazing a trail down Draco’s neck and her fingers were working to pull his sweater up and off. He shifted his weight a bit forward to help her remove the garment, and then he sunk into the couch, his head resting against the back, losing himself to her touch.

When Hermione’s fingers pried at his belt, his head shot forward and he was met with a pair of sultry brown eyes, nearly black with desire.

“Hermione—”

“Stop, Draco. Don’t look at me like that. Weren’t you just bragging about something that was ‘functioning quite well’? I want this- I want you.”

And, in a resolutely Hermione fashion, she planted herself on her knees between his legs, pulled his cock from his pants, tossed her hair to the side, and sunk her hot mouth over him.

“Fuck, Granger!”

Draco felt Hermione’s hum of mirth as he slipped into calling her by the name he had used throughout their five years of school, which only added to the pressure increasing at the base of his spine. He swallowed his thoughts and concentrated, determined not to come ten seconds into his first blowjob from Hermione.

As it turned out, Hermione’s mouth was better than any of his half-dreamt fantasies. She worked him, methodically, but passionately. It was clear she was enjoying what she was doing to Draco. And as Hermione’s tongue circled his head once more and teased his slit before fully encompassing him in her mouth again, Draco gave up. He was certain that he had died when he finally came in her mouth.

Hermione, ever the pragmatist, swallowed quickly. Draco, she observed, had his eyes closed. His hair was disheveled and his lips were parted, allowing his heavy breaths to escape.

She watched the movements of his chest for a few moments before asking, “Was that—”

“Gods, woman. Don’t you dare ask me if that was okay. That was fucking fantastic.”

Hermione grinned, pleased that she succeeded in rattling Draco, and pleased that she felt closer to him again. After all, Draco did invite her into his version of the Room. Feeling distant was silly. He was obviously trying to feel closer to her by sharing something he considered special with her. Hermione felt like this turned out to be a rather even exchange of intimacies, so she stood up and began to gather her discarded clothing and Draco’s.

“I should get back to the match. I can’t be so lucky that it’s over by now,” Hermione stated as she tossed Draco his shirt.

Draco had already made himself half presentable by doing up his trousers, but instead of pulling on his shirt, he spoke in a firm, soft command, “Sit down.”

The tone of his voice comically stopped Hermione with only one sleeve of her coat on. She looked at Draco quizzically, but did not move.

“Take off your coat and sit down,” he repeated in the same tone.

Hermione’s eyes darted over Draco’s face, studying it to determine his intent. It was the absolutely wicked gleam emanating from his eyes that made her skin hum with a desire to comply. She released her grasp on the collar of her coat and allowed it to fall off her arm. She walked to the couch and sat down about a foot away from Draco, near the armrest.

Draco slid from the couch and to his knees in front of Hermione. She watched his movements while sitting still, hands on her knees, back straight. Draco reached out and removed Hermione’s hands from her knees and stole their place, his fingers splayed wide as he gripped her thighs.

“A gentleman never leaves a lady wanting,” he spoke in that same low voice. “What do you want, Hermione?”

“Touch me,” she breathed without hesitation.

Draco slid his hands to her waist and pulled her forward. He pushed her shirt up just enough to expose her stomach and he kissed and licked along the line of skin. Hermione leaned back, spreading her legs wider. Draco unsnapped her jeans and wriggled them off, her underwear going with them. He wasted no time in yanking off her shoes and socks and pulling her jeans and underwear the rest of the way off. The light of the room was softly reflected in the smooth, firm skin of her legs and Draco couldn’t help but kiss his way up and down each of them.

Hermione was making the most delicious, tiny moans in the back of her throat, her head mirroring Draco’s from earlier by laying against the back of the couch. Her fingers were gripping the cushion so hard they were trembling.

Draco pulled her even closer to him and pushed her thighs wide. Hermione raised her head to watch as Draco placed her right leg over the armrest of the couch. She was completely bared to him now.

Draco looked at her already glistening vulva, his cock hardening again at the thought that she was so wet because of his ministrations. Hermione’s eyes were still on his face as he reached forward to circle her outer lips with his finger, pausing just below her opening.

“You’re beautiful, and I can’t wait to taste you.”

Hermione shuddered and lolled back against the couch, moving her body forward and allowing the tip of Draco’s finger to slip into her. Instead of pushing in further, he removed his finger and replaced it with his tongue.

Hermione moaned.

Draco worked her center, his tongue moving in and out before he moved to circle her outer lips. He ghosted his tongue over her clit, chuckling as her thighs twitched as he did. The whisper of his breath on her clit reduced her to begging.

“Draco, pleeeease.”

He loved that he elicited that little whine from Hermione Granger and he knew he couldn’t deny her any longer. He moved his lips over her clit and sucked lightly. He alternated between flicking his tongue over her swollen clitoris and sucking it, increasing the pressure as Hermione became more vocal and more demanding, her hands now gripping the top of her thighs.

Draco slid his finger into her wet heat and quickly decided to add another. She came soon after in a panting mess, moaning pieces of his name and praising the gods.

Draco kissed her thighs before pulling out his wand. He cast a few cleaning spells for which Hermione mumbled her thanks.

Draco plopped back onto the couch next to her and finally pulled on his shirt. Hermione was silent as she pulled on her clothes and retied her shoes.

When she was fully dressed, she turned to Draco and held out her hands. He allowed her to pull him up off the couch and into her embrace. She squeezed him tightly and inhaled deeply, relishing his scent.

“That was. . . fucking fantastic.”

Draco chuckled into her hair, “I know.”

Hermione laughed into his chest and shook her head. She looked up at him, warm brown eyes meeting cool grey ones. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”

Draco smirked then kissed her sweetly.

Hermione sighed, “I should really get back to the match.”

“I’m sure Potter’s already caught the snitch and is currently being lorded through the hallways like the god of thunderbolt scars and Quidditch that he is.

Hermione chuckled, “Enough. We’ve both clearly gotten something today that’s much better than a snitch, right?”

Draco smiled and pulled Hermione back into their embrace. He pressed his lips to her forehead and warily eyed the dusty, broken cabinet a few piles away.

“Absolutely.”

As Draco and Hermione left the Room of Requirement, neither of them noticed that Hermione was missing her scarf, a small, crumpled pile of red and gold that lay only a few feet from where Draco’s eyes had just been focused.


	6. Reading the Letter: Telling (Even More) Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione reflects on her night with Draco after his mortifying incident of "gate-crashing" Slughorn's party. Hermione also has a few words for Harry and his obsession with Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated! Please let me know if you have any suggestions or catch anything that needs clarified. My smut turned out a little more poetic than usual. . . hope you like it! 
> 
> Also, Chapter 7 will contain a new part of the letter- no more repeats! We are in the home-stretch now : )

_**For the longest time, I blamed Fate for my troubles because the possibility of accepting that I was composed of an unredeemable darkness was my nightmare. Lying to you, the one person who made me feel like maybe, just maybe it wasn’t too late for me, ensured that my path for redemption was truly barred.** _

Hermione _had_ believed that Draco was redeemable, and he had become addicted to that light in her eyes, especially during his most vulnerable moments, the moments when he was enmeshed in his failures.

* * *

Hermione and Draco were curled up together on the long sofa beside the fireplace in Hermione’s room. Because of her schedule and her tendency to study late in the night or very early in the morning, Hermione had methodically outlined an argument for moving into one of the empty dormitories near Gryffindor’s tower that was intended for guests or special circumstances. No one had inhabited any of the rooms in years, so Professor McGonagall decided to grant Hermione her request. It was expected that Hermione would behave with the utmost propriety and be discreet about the arrangement. At the time, Hermione inwardly scoffed at the thought of her being anything less than the perfect student, but now, here she was, snuggled up with the most notorious Slytherin in school. After nearly being caught for the third time sneaking in and out of Draco’s dorm, Hermione suggested that they meet in her room.

Hermione laughed as Draco’s expression transformed into an all-too-familiar version of an indignant, spoiled child who was used to having the best of everything. Hermione had spent the first part of their evening together kissing away that petulance and showing him why they should be thankful they had this sort of privacy.

Slughorn’s Christmas Party was in two weeks on the last day of school before the holiday break. Hermione had been talking about who she would ask to the party. She had ventured the idea that she could take Harry or Ron as her friend, and although he tried to bury his jealousy, Hermione could tell that neither of those boys were the best solution. She wracked her brain, then decided on the most uncouth boy she could think of. When she suggested Cormac McLaggen, who had been pestering her for quite some time, Draco lost himself in a fit of giggles and she knew she had a winner.

“I wish you could come with me,” she said more to the ceiling than to Draco, lost in her thoughts.

Sometimes Hermione liked to speculate on just how apoplectic Harry and Ron would be if she were to waltz into the Common Room or the Dining Hall hand in hand with Draco Malfoy. Given Harry’s obsession with proving Draco was doing Voldemort’s bidding, Hermione suspected his head would actually explode.

“You know how I feel about that man. I wouldn’t go to his party even if it meant no more detention for the rest of the school year.”

“Since you brought it up, you missed McGonagall’s class twice this week. You told me you were going to try harder.” Hermione ran her hands through Draco’s hair, tracing the neat part with her fingertips and then lightly running through the ends. Draco’s eyes were closed and his lips were holding that small, sweet smile she had only seen on Draco’s face when he was with her. She reached down and lightly traced the ever-darkening circles under his eyes, worrying about the stress he put on himself because his mother was alone at home without Lucius.

“Mother seemed especially out of sorts this week and we were up late corresponding.”

Narcissa had used a particularly complex Protean Charm on a set of parchment and quills so when Draco wrote something on the parchment, it showed up on hers. Hermione had seen the pages of conversations on top of Draco’s trunk one night before he had had a chance to burn them and pestered him until he answered about how they were able to do it. As it turned out, it was very similar to Hermione’s charmed coins used to communicate with members of the DA. She had inwardly smiled to herself that she was able to complete such complicated magic, usually only used once one had passed their N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione found it sort of endearing that Draco was worried about his mother, often wondering if the face she presented to the world was a mask like Draco’s. Hermione chastised herself for being silly. Draco may be willing to look past Hermione’s blood status and acknowledge his past ignorance, but someone like Narcissa Malfoy would never.

Hermione traced the outline of Draco’s face, smiling to herself. He really was so handsome, and he really had changed, just like he said he had on the day he first kissed her.

 

_Two weeks later. . ._  
On the night of the party, Hermione took one final look at herself before heading to Gryffindor’s Common Room to meet Cormac. She eyed her figure in the full-length mirror and appreciated the way her peach-colored dress hugged her upper body, a deep v-neck just showing a hint of her cleavage on each side. She had charmed some sparkles into the bottom of the dress so it shimmered as she walked. She opted to wear her hair down, her chestnut curls dried into shiny waves. Her was long, almost to her mid-back when it wasn’t fully curled. She dabbed just a bit more of her sparkly eyeshadow into the inner corners of her eyes, appreciating how bright and pretty her face looked with the light make-up.

She knew she’d have her hands full with McLaggen, but at least Draco wouldn’t be jealous. He continued to look tired, and Hermione hoped that going home over break would leave him well-rested and assured that his mother was okay. Hermione had been reading more about the politics of Voldemort’s Death Eaters and trying to understand what it meant for Draco and Narcissa that Lucius had failed and was in prison. Draco had said there would be a consequence but never said more on the subject. Hermione was reluctant to push given his warning to her at the start of school, fearing she would do it out of Harry’s voice and not her own.

Hermione did understand the dynamics of aristocratic, pure-blooded wizarding families. Years ago, when Draco had first called her a “mudblood,” Hermione spent hours researching the bigotry found within ancient wizarding families like the Malfoys. Hermione did believe that Draco’s prejudice extended more from ignorance than hate, and he even confirmed this during one of their more heated conversations. He had only ever learned what his parents and their friends believed. As with every type of bigot, the more accepting the next generation is of differences, the harder it is to continue an unfounded hatred of someone based on something so stupid as blood. Draco was usually fairly quiet during these conversations, listening to Hermione’s passionate musings on acceptance and understanding between all creatures. She had a point; actually, she had a lot of logical, unarguable points.

Bigotry was obviously a problem within old wizarding families, but so was patriarchy. Without Lucius, Draco was technically the master of the house. As soon as the family produced a male heir, that heir had more power than his own mother. Perhaps that was what scared Draco the most-- not being ready for that sort of responsibility at the age of 16.

Hermione met Cormac and swallowed her dislike, smiling nicely as he complimented her. Honestly, she could have been meeting the most eligible bachelor in all of the wizarding world and would have cared less. Hermione only wanted Draco. On the way to the party, she thought of how handsome Draco would look in his dress robes, tall, lean, and every movement a picture of elegance, unlike her current companion.

Much of Hermione’s time at the party was spent avoiding the mistletoe. Cormac seemed to be having a good time, drinking and eating whatever crossed his path. Hermione was fascinated by the guests at Slughorn’s party and made mental notes to look up more information on anyone she found noteworthy. Eldred Worple and the vampire Sanguini especially caught her eye. She found it utterly repulsive that Worple was treating the vampire like a pet. It reminded her of the House Elves; she was deep in thought, combing through her mental reservoir to remember if there had been any legislation passed on what one could and could not do with a vampire, when Slughorn’s door banged open, causing an almost comical halt to all party activities.

Hermione stood on tiptoe to peek over the other guests’ heads to see what the ruckus was. Filch was dragging someone by the arm to Professor Slughorn—no. Not someone. Draco.

Hermione squirmed in earnest through the crowd to get closer.

“Get your hands off of me, you filthy squib!” Draco snapped while wresting his arm out of Filch’s grasp.

“What’s this we have here?” Professor Slughorn hurried over, eager to settle the matter so as not to ruin the atmosphere of the party. “Mister Malfoy! How nice of you to drop by—”

“I caught this one gate-crashin’! Sneakin’ ‘bout the hallways. He’s not on the list!” Filch interrupted.

“Oh, well! Seeing as it’s Christmas, I think we can let Mister Malfoy join our festivities. What do you say, lad? Let’s get you some refreshments.” Slughorn turned to the band, “Carry on!”

Hermione was about to surge forward to ask Draco what on earth he was thinking when Snape intercepted and spoke in a sharp, low voice to Draco. Draco just caught Hermione out of the corner of his eye and looked mortified. He readily followed Snape from the room, two sets of billowing of black robes, rustling out of the door. Hermione, exasperated and a little scared for Draco, debated whether or not to follow. Professor Snape would surely find it strange that she was showing any sort of concern for a Malfoy. As Hermione eyed the door, she noticed that it opened and shut seemingly on its own.

“Harry.” Hermione breathed through clenched teeth. Now she certainly couldn’t go after Draco.

Hermione marched over to a tray carrying what appeared to be champagne and downed a glass.

“Glad to see you’re starting to enjoy yourself, Hermione,” Cormac slurred into her ear, fingers crawling over her waist.

Hermione whirled on him and hissed, “Oh, grow up McLaggen. Find someone else to bother for the rest of the night or I’ll place a hex on you so the only thing you’ll want to snog is your own arse.”

Hermione weaved through the crowd to find Luna and tell her that she was leaving. She also said that she wasn’t sure whether Harry would return and apologized for his rudeness. Luna smiled and said she didn’t mind-- she expected to walk back to her House alone and hoped that a Blibbering Humdinger may make itself known to her during that walk.

Hermione gave her a small smile and wished her a very Happy Christmas.

When the door to the party clicked shut behind Hermione, she stood still, listening for nearby voices. After a minute, Hermione made up her mind to risk a trip to Draco’s dorm. She took off for the dungeons, stopping only to pop into the closet she knew to be closest to the Slytherin’s stairs. Hermione took out her wand and started twirling it about herself, as if she were winding her body in a rope. She felt the tell-tale chill of the Disillusionment Charm and prayed to the gods it was cast well. She had been practicing since that first night Draco had cast the charm to conceal her. She had gotten quite good, better even than Draco.

Hermione regulated her breathing knowing that she needed to walk steadily the rest of the way, sticking close to the stone walls. Since it was the night before the holiday break, she knew students would still be going in and out of their House, so she would have an easy way to slide in after someone.

What Hermione Granger was absolutely not expecting was to find Professor Snape billowing toward her just as her left foot descended the final stair. Hermione scooted ever so slowly to the right of the stairs and pressed her body against the wall, wishing she would just melt into it. There was no way a skilled wizard like Severus Snape would miss a hastily cast Disillusionment Charm.

Hermione was left with nothing to do other than stare in horror as Snape continued down the hall, his strides picking up speed, staring directly at her. Hermione stopped breathing, blood roaring in her ears.

For the duration of the holiday break, Hermione would fall asleep every night thinking about what happened in the next few moments.

Snape’s stride had what Hermione could only describe as a hiccup when he approached the stairs—the most miniscule hesitation as his eyes locked with hers. Hermione was about to open her mouth and exhale a whoosh of apologies when Snape’s eyes snapped forward and he swept up the stairs.

_Merlin’s beard!_ Hermione’s mind roared questions at her, but her adrenaline propelled her forward to the Slytherin entrance. She again pressed herself to the wall and waited, still in a daze that hadn’t been caught.

As predicted, she didn’t wait long. Not as predicted, it was Pansy Parkinson of all people to open the wall and slide out, giggling with Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini.

Hermione moved with a speed she didn’t know she possessed to squeeze in before the wall slid shut behind Blaise. She wasted no time in the corridor and hurried to the Common Room. Hermione’s body was still pumping adrenaline as she stuck to the shadows, which wasn’t a hard task in the Slytherin’s Common Room, and went straight to Draco’s room. Surprisingly, Draco’s door was slightly open, leaving Hermione to wonder if Snape actually deposited him in his room like a naughty child.

Hermione pushed the door open enough to allow her slim body to fit. She glanced around and at first didn’t even see Draco sitting in the shadow of the mock window, staring out at the fake gardens—except, this time the scene wasn’t of his view at home. The window had changed to reflect the same view from Hermione’s room. Draco was staring out over The Great Lake and looking at the mountains. A fat moon shone in the sky and millions of stars blinked and winked around it and over the mountains. The lake itself held a shimmering reflection of the moon, and a soft snow made the scene come alive here and there as bits of snow caught the moon’s light and reflected it back.

As Hermione’s eyes adjusted to the dark of the room, she maintained her distance in favor of studying Draco’s features. He was pale and bordering on gaunt. Draco’s features were naturally defined and sharp from his straight nose to his high cheekbones that helped to even further define his jawline, to his chin. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced than even two weeks ago. His lips were parted slightly, his expression nothing less than despondent, as if he were Atlas, tasked to hold up the heavens for eternity.

“Dray,” Hermione whispered.

Draco’s sigh was the only answer he gave.

“Finite Incantatem,” Hermione cast to end the Disillusionment Charm.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Draco—you have to tell me what’s going on. I know it certainly wasn’t crashing Slughorn’s party. What were you doing?”

“I wanted to see you one more time in case I don’t come back after the holidays.”

Hermione’s mouth opened in surprise, her brain stalling because of the myriad of questions and protestations that were jockeying to be verbalized.

“Yo-you can’t be serious,” she managed to stutter. “Your mother would never allow you to—”

“Who do you think wants me home, Hermione? You’re a clever girl. You put together the pieces.”

“Don’t patronize me, Draco. I care about you. If you’re in trouble—”

Draco’s face broke into an uneasy peal of laughter. “My gods, Granger! Don’t you even dare suggest I ask someone for help. As if anyone in this godforsaken school would be able to help me if I needed it. Nothing comes without a price, especially not help.” Draco spat out the word “help” as if it were a curse.

In a small voice, Hermione questioned, “Not even me?”

It was her tone, small, afraid, and pleading, that broke Draco’s wallow in self-pity. He slid out of the window and cast his wand at the fire, brightening the room. He moved behind Hermione to shut the door and lock it. Draco walked to his dresser and removed a small box from the top drawer.

He turned his eyes to Hermione’s face just in time to see the tear that escaped her eye. He really looked at her for the first time that evening, appreciating her beauty. She was radiant, even in her sadness. A charm couldn’t have been cast to make her dress fit her better. It accentuated her figure without being overly revealing and the color made her skin seem ethereal. She looked like she belonged in a painting, and the sadness in her eyes only made her look lovelier.

Draco sighed, “I’m an idiot. I wanted to give you a present, not make you sad. Some ‘Happy Christmas’ from me, eh? Guess it wouldn’t be us if I didn’t make a total fool out of myself while trying to do something nice.”

That elicited a small laugh from Hermione, her eyes beginning to regain some of their formal sparkle.

“Did you mean what you said—that your mother may not let you return?”

“Not exactly—I need to be here. And she _knows_ that. She’s insufferably protective and at the same time, overly-reliant on me because father is gone. Snape, the arrogant fucking bastard, decided that tonight was the perfect night to remind me of just where my father is. As if I needed yet another reminder to feel like a failure. Gods that whole thing was so embarrassing.” Draco’s cheeks colored at the memory, causing Hermione to close the distance between them and take his face in her hands. She tenderly ran her thumb over his lips before reaching up to press a soft kiss to them.

“You know your father’s failures are not yours. And good-god, Snape tends to have that effect on everyone,” Hermione said as she rolled her eyes, eliciting a smile from Draco. “You’re just mostly immune from him because you’re the prince of Slytherin.”

“Prince? How insulting! Surely I’m the king.”

Hermione laughed and shook her head in disbelief. Even when things were bad, scary bad, when she and Draco were together, everything got better. She felt strong when she was with him, and confident. And it was clear that she did the same for Draco. After they spent time together, he always changed. He seemed lighter, happier, he attended his classes, and the really scary thing was that Draco let himself feel normal after he had been with Hermione. Snogging her was of course a wonderful perk, but it was her company that he craved. Her easy manner, her intellect, and that light in her eyes that warmed her entire face. Draco thought that if he could drink in enough of her light that maybe he could keep a part of himself alive when he finally completed his task.

“Shall we start this evening anew?” Draco asked, quirking a brow.

Hermione nodded.

“I want to tell you that you look beautiful, but that’s not true. You’re. . . resplendent.”

“I appreciate your vocabulary, Draco,” Hermione said smiling at his desire to pick the perfect adjective. “Thank you.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be jealous of that oaf, but I was wrong. How could I not be jealous of anyone who got to be near you looking like that?”

“I have to confess. . . I feel a little responsible for what happened to you tonight because I had spent the entire afternoon hoping you’d see me in this dress.”

“Witch. You cursed me!” Draco teased as he scooped Hermione up and twirled her around his room until they were both laughing and both a little dizzy. Hermione fell onto Draco’s bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She kicked off her shoes before propping herself on her elbows.

“Hey. What was that about a present?”

Draco pulled the small box from his pocket and said, “You mean this?”

Hermione bit her lower lip and tried not to look too overexcited. For once, someone clearly had **_not_** bought her a book.

Draco held the box out to Hermione and she sat up to take it. He retreated a bit to lean against the bed post and watch her open it.

The wrapping paper was Christmas red and the ribbon around the box was a sparkling gold, tied in a perfect, tiny bow. Hermione smiled as she pulled on an end of the bow and the wrapping paper seemed to melt before her eyes, turning to tiny sparkles that fell across her fingers and her dress. Hermione looked at Draco, her face lit up at the small wonders of magic. Hermione supposed that was one of the reasons she sought to know everything about the magical world. Having grown up as a muggle, she felt like she had missed out on so many little wonders.

When the glittery bits of paper and bow settled, Hermione was left with a simple black box. She opened the lid and it took what felt like forever to Draco for Hermione to let out a little sigh of appreciation. Her eyes drank in the details of the small pendant, which was no bigger than a thumbnail. It was a white-gold “H” with an intricately patterned dragon that wrapped protectively around the letter. The dragon’s eyes were set with beautiful, iridescent grey stones.

“I don’t know what to say—it’s breathtaking.”

“Can I put it on you?”

“Of course,” Hermione replied as she removed the pendant from the box and handed it to Draco. She turned her body and gathered her hair up and off her neck. As Draco unclasped the necklace and placed it around Hermione’s neck, he said, “Humans and dragons have always had a complicated relationship. Sometimes they are at war. Sometimes one species exploits the other. . . or eats the other. But when a human and a dragon work together in understanding, their bond is unbreakable.”

Hermione’s mind flooded with stories of relationships forged between humans and dragons, usually brought together by dire circumstances, but upon a resolution, they remain together until their dying day.

“Thank you, Draco. No one has ever given me anything so meaningful.”

“Is it selfish of me to hope you’ll always wear it? Or at least to hope you’ll always keep it as a memory of our time together?”

“That’s the kind of selfish everyone ought to be,” Hermione said softly as she stood to kiss Draco.

Hermione knew as this kiss deepened that tonight would be the night she would have sex with Draco. She almost couldn’t believe that she wanted such intimacy with this boy who she once thought she hated, but now wondered if she loved.

Hermione loved the way Draco’s tongue would slide across her bottom lip, coaxing her lips to part. It was sweet and sexy. And Draco believed that Hermione’s lips were each personified witches, hexing him into a frenzied state of want every time they touched a part of him.

They both felt the urgency brought on by the emotions and actions of this intense night. Everything was building to this catalytic moment that would forever cement their time together as a relationship, a bond.

Draco broke their kiss to whisper in Hermione’s ear, his fingers poised on the zipper of her gown, “May I?”

Hermione shivered and breathed her consent.

Draco slowly turned Hermione around and swept her pretty hair over her shoulder. He tugged the zipper down, and with every exposed inch of skin, Hermione grew wetter and Draco grew harder. Hermione’s dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled to the floor. She was wearing a matching set of delicate white underwear, which Draco found so alluring. Her panties were cut high on the bum and her ample cheeks were exposed since she still had her back to him. He reached out to lightly run his fingers over her cheeks before squeezing them both. Hermione gave a delicious little mewl and backed her ass into Draco’s crotch, eliciting a similar, but deeper sound from him.

Draco wrapped his hands around her waist and held her to him as he kissed along her bare shoulder and swept his tongue up her neck.

Again, he whispered in her ear, “I want you. All of you. If only you’ll have me. . .”

Hermione’s vaginal walls clenched in anticipation of his request. She felt certain that her panties could actually be wrung out at this point.

Hermione had her hands on top of Draco’s, one wrapped around her waist and one wrapped around her breast. She squeezed her hands into his and moaned, “I need all of you, Dray.”

Draco closed his eyes and thanked all the gods. He moved his hands to her back to unclasp her bra. Once it fell to the floor, he reached around again to cup and knead her breasts, pinching and then lightly tracing her hard nipples.

The curiosity was killing him. He had himself convinced that he could smell her arousal, but surely she wasn’t that wet for him. He slid one hand down her stomach and into her panties. His finger slid between her lips, an open invitation to her slick heat.

So wet.

Hermione grew restless with Draco’s teasing and turned around, his hand sliding from her panties. She tugged off his outer robe and was left the mess of buttons and clasps that adorned expensive wizarding robes. Hermione growled in frustration and summoned her wand. She whispered a spell, and the fastenings simultaneously undid themselves, freeing Hermione to pull off Draco’s robes until he was clad only in socks and underwear. Hermione ran her hands all over his torso, stopping to kiss and nip as she pleased at his exposed flesh. She dropped to her knees and pulled off his remaining garments.

Hermione lightly licked up the underside of Draco’s cock, tasting the precome that had formed at his tip.

Before she could sink her mouth over him, Draco pulled back a bit, Hermione glancing curiously up at him. He bent down and kissed her, pulling her up as he straightened.

Between kisses, he panted, “I can’t handle that hot mouth of yours.”

“I bet I can handle yours.”

Draco groaned and picked Hermione up, tossing her on the bed, making her giggle. Her giggle was cut short as Draco spread her legs, holding on to the underside of her knee to toss one over his shoulder and drop his lips onto her clit.

Hermione moaned, loudly, and Draco paused to summon his wand and cast a silencing charm on the room. He wasn’t even sure Hermione noticed since she was arching her back into his mouth, begging him to keep touching her. He knew he could bring her to orgasm with his tongue, but he wanted to be inside of her when she came tonight.

Hermione spread her legs further apart as Draco moved up to kiss her.

Hot lips on lips. Tongues sliding, teeth pulling on a lower lip. Hips pushing, grinding together, eliciting a long moan.

Hermione’s mind was entering a fog now and she felt nothing but Draco. Nothing but skin, smooth and rough where the stubble of his beard would grow, wet and hard. His lips. Her jaw, her neck, her chest. Fingernails down his back. A nipple taken, pinched between teeth. A soft groan followed by another and another and another.

Enough teasing. She was ready and so was he. She no longer wanted him; now she needed him.

One deep thrust. Slick. So soft and so hard. Thoughts are dead.

Breathing is insignificant. Her muscles are clenching and he’s so close. Faster. Harder. Deeper.

Pressure builds at the base of his spine while her body fills to the brim with electricity, pulsating, begging for him to cut the line, to let her--

And then she does, and he does in an explosion of ecstasy.

Breathing is suddenly significant again no that everything is so much softer, clearer, quieter.

Hermione’s breath regulates and Draco’s thoughts drift back. He leans down to press a kiss over the pendant which had incidentally settled over her heart.

 

_The next morning. . ._  
Hermione catches Draco’s eye as the students going home board the carriages that will take them to the train. Hermione touches the pendant and Draco smiles before disappearing into his carriage.

 

_After the holiday. . ._  
Hermione was a ball of nerves, waiting to catch sight of his blond hair in the Great Hall on their first day back from the holiday, wondering if Narcissa let her son return to Hogwarts. Finally, Draco enters, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, Pansy not far behind either. Hermione can’t stop the little butterfly of jealousy that floats through her stomach. She touches her pendant and smiles. Draco sees her and smiles, too. He looks even worse than he did before break, and she hides the slipping of her smile and the growing concern in her eyes with a long drink of pumpkin juice.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione return to the comfort of the Common Room for all of ten seconds before Harry assails Hermione with the conversation he overheard between Snape and Malfoy. Harry’s mouth gushes the details, with words and phrases like “Snape tried to offer Draco help,” “mission given by Voldemort,” “an Unbreakable Vow between Narcissa and Snape,” “refuses help” “childish” “Snape only trying to steal glory” “Lucius imprisoned” assailing Hermione’s ears.

Hermione’s eyes are screwed shut and she’s never felt so volatile toward Harry. She bursts, “Enough, Harry! Enough! Malfoy is 16-years-old! What could Voldemort want with a 16-year-old Death Eater?!”

“Hermione, Malfoy _is_ —”

“I said ENOUGH! Remember, Harry, what happened the last time you were ‘SO SURE’ of something? Dumbledore’s Army was wiped out, Ron and I were nearly killed, and Sirius was killed!”

Harry looked sick, his face turning grey. Hermione knew she crossed a line, but she held eye-contact with Harry and continued.

“Forget about Malfoy and concentrate on getting Slughorn’s memory like Dumbledore asked you to do months ago,” she said in a low, venomous voice.

Hermione pushed past Harry’s chair while Ron’s mouth was gaping open and closed like a dying fish, and anyone left in the Common Room practically diving out of her path. As soon as the Fat Lady closed behind her, Hermione gasped for breath and didn’t even try to stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks.


	7. Reading the Letter: As His Own Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco have grown closer since Christmas and spend a very happy Valentine's evening together. But when you've got a task to complete for the Dark Lord and Harry Potter is on to you, how can any happiness last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this fluffy, smutty foray before the inevitable descent into an emotional wasteland.

 

_**Please try to understand that I was in total darkness before you offered me light. At the end of fifth year, I blamed Potter for my father’s arrest and for our family’s embarrassment. I was so angry and so determined to prove my family’s importance. I accepted the Dark Mark, my pride blinding me to the reality of the failures that would make me into my father. You helped me see that I am not my father, Hermione, so I get to write this letter as my own man.** _

* * *

_This is just fantastic_ , Hermione thought as she paused, ready to exit with her hand on the bathroom stall’s door, when she heard the bubbling laughter of Romilda Vane. She was talking about Harry, and even though Hermione and Harry had been avoiding each other, Romilda’s boldness gave her enough pause to stay put and listen. If anyone were to resort to dirty tricks to manipulate Harry, it would be Romilda.

“It was easy, really! Just a few drops on each chocolate and it will give Harry the courage he needs to see just how much we are meant to be together. It’s not like love potions are _illegal_.”

Through the crack in her stall, Hermione could see Romilda smiling at herself in the mirror and rolling her eyes as she emphasized the word “illegal.”

Hermione silently retreated into the stall, tucking her feet up so as not to be noticed. Once the giggles and squeaks rescinded, she exited the stall, washed her hands, and headed straight to DADA class. Hermione slid into her seat next to Harry, wondering how she could broach the subject of what she overheard in the bathroom considering that Harry was still not speaking to her.

When it came time to pair up to continue practicing nonverbal spells, Harry practically leapt into Ron’s lap to get away from Hermione.

Hermione frowned and shook her head. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Mr. Malfoy, pair up with Miss Granger,” Snape drawled from beside Hermione’s desk.

Hermione’s head whirled around, checking to confirm that somehow, she and Draco were the only two left without a partner. Harry and Ron both shot her a look; Harry’s chivalrous nature always got the best of him.

Hermione took note of the concern on Harry’s face and couldn’t believe that the universe was forcing her to “owe one” to Severus Snape of all wizards.

“Professor Snape, Hermione can work with us,” Ron said, although he immediately retreated, turtle-like, into his robes as Snape fixed his gaze on him.

“It comes as no surprise that simple mathematics allude you, Mr. Weasley, along with a successful nonverbal Shield Charm.”

Harry, ever the brave one, opened his mouth to retort when Draco marched up to Hermione and said, “Come on then.”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut as Hermione turned and followed Draco to a corner of the practice area. She could see the boys out of the corner of her eye, scrambling to follow.

Draco corked an eyebrow and said in a low voice,” I thought Potter was treating you like you had Spattergroit?”

Hermione, with her back turned toward the boys, smiled, “Apparently, Harry still feels compelled to protect me against the most evil force of darkness—you.”

Draco looked impassively at Hermione, but she didn’t miss the twitch of his lips, knowing that there was a smile lurking beneath his well-practiced, haughty countenance.

Hermione and Draco assumed the appropriate stance across from one another and easily cast and deflected a series of spells, both ahead of the rest of the class.

Snape circled back several times, watching Draco carefully, offering a few, “Well-done, Mr. Malfoy”s, but never a “Well-done, Miss Granger.”

After half an hour, Snape called a halt to the practice and Hermione and Draco promptly returned to their seats as if nothing would have made them happier than to be apart.

Snape’s lecture introduced a new stunning spell, and soon, all that could be heard was the monotonous baritone of Severus Snape and the scratching of quills.

 

After class, Harry and Ron surrounded Hermione, Harry holding back from speaking, but hovering nonetheless.

“Blimey, Hermione. You were so…and he was so…” Ron shifted his books from one arm to the other as he struggled to find what he wanted to say.

“It’s called being mature, Ron. It’s not like we’ve never been paired with Slytherins before.”

“But it was Malfoy!” Ron protested.

“Yes, and here I am, unscathed.” Hermione quickly turned to Harry, “I need to speak with you about something important. Will you come to the library with me?”

Harry appeared to be engaging in an eternal war, his eyes narrowing, before finally agreeing.

“See you in an hour?”

Harry nodded.

 

Harry arrived promptly, so Hermione wasted no time in telling him about Romilda’s plot. Though it was awkward at first, the bond between Harry and Hermione overcame their wounded feelings and soon, Harry was confessing that he still held his suspicions of Malfoy, but that he was trying harder to get Slughorn’s memory. Harry had missed Hermione and she him.

Amends made and an hour and a half later, Harry sighed in exhaustion as he shut his Transfiguration book, homework complete for the night.

“I missed you, Hermione,” Harry said quietly, causing Hermione’s brown eyes to meet his green ones.

“Me too, Harry. It’s not usually you and me on the outs,” Hermione replied as she smiled.

“Can I tell you something without you getting upset?”

Hermione raised a brow, intrigued. “I suppose. . .”

“Sometimes I feel like you are a million miles away. Like you’re growing up and Ron and I are just sort of . . . not.”

Hermione laughed softly and lightly rolled her eyes. “I am a girl, you know. Girls, barring the Romildas and Lavenders of the world, mature faster than boys.”

Harry continued to meet Hermione’s eyes, so she went on.

“I’m sorry, Harry. You’re my best friend. Not talking for so long probably made that feeling worse, but I feel it too. In fact, I’ve felt it a lot throughout the years. You and Ron have a lot more in common than I do with either of you. I’ve felt that loneliness before. You know, this year is proving to be more challenging than even I thought it would be.”

Harry gave Hermione a half-smile. “You can say that again. I just want you to know that no matter what, I’m always here for you. And I know you’re there for me.”

“Always. That’s what best friends are for,” Hermione said and touched Harry’s hand, gently brushing her fingertips across the scar from Umbridge.

Harry genuinely smiled, and it pained Hermione how much she missed seeing that expression. She thought that she needed to try harder to be a good friend to Harry and to understand the pressures he had—academics, sure, but there was what he was doing with Dumbledore, what Harry would have to do in the future, and then just everyday life, including Harry’s conflicting feelings for Ginny that he certainly wasn’t about to admit to anyone just yet.

“Goodnight, Hermione. Try not to stay too late,” Harry said as he left.

Hermione smiled, then looked around and realized that the library was nearly empty. All that remained was a table of three Ravenclaws catty-corner from her.

Hermione got up to put away the book she had used to finish her essay on the stunning spell for DADA. As Hermione rounded the corner to shelve her book, she was surprised to be met by a pair of intense grey eyes.

“I thought Potter would never leave,” Draco hissed as he wound his hands around Hermione’s waist.

Hermione was shocked at his brazen display of affection.

“Someone could see!”

Draco shrugged and tightened his grasp, leaning down to kiss along Hermione’s neck.

Hermione let her eyes flutter shut for a nanosecond before her sense jarred her back to reality.

“So, we’re going public now? Shall we waltz into the Great Hall tomorrow morning hand in hand? Are you going to tell your friends first or should we tell mine?”

Draco huffed and pulled back, eyes scanning her face and frowning at the actual worry he had caused her.

“I’m sorry,” Draco mumbled as he stepped back and gave her enough space to shelve her book. “I saw you with Potter and I just wanted to remind you that we’re friends, too.”

“Friends? Well, let me go and show Harry how Draco Malfoy defines friendship,” Hermione said with a wicked grin.

Draco narrowed his eyes, straightened his posture, and in his haughtiest voice said, “That will not be necessary.”

Hermione quietly giggled. “Valentine’s Day is next week, you know. Have any plans?”

“No. Do you?”

“I’m hoping I have them with you?” Hermione questioned.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Come to my room at 10 and find out,” Hermione said, her voice just on the edge of husky. Draco looked as if he’d like to eat her up on the spot, which only made Hermione tilt up her chin and raise her eyebrow in challenge.

“You’ve got yourself a date,” Draco replied.

Hermione peeked around the end of the row to make sure no one was near, turned back and captured Draco’s lips in a short, rough kiss, pulling on his bottom lip with her teeth as she began to step away from him.

“Night,” she whispered, grinning.

“Minx,” Draco whispered back, a smile on his lips.

 

_Valentine’s Day. . ._  
As Hermione warned, Romilda had presented a box of Chocolate Cauldrons to Harry. If he were honestly stupid enough to eat them, Hermione would’ve had to reconsider their friendship. It was so obvious what Romilda was up to. Harry awkwardly thanked her and rushed to his room, burying them in his trunk.

When Harry returned, he exchanged a knowing eye roll with Hermione.

Soon after, Hermione headed to her room to get ready for her evening with Draco. She had racked her brain to think of a reciprocal gift after receiving Draco’s pendant at Christmas. What do you buy, though, for someone who was richer than god? Hermione determined that the answer was pretty much nothing. Instead, she decided to give Draco the memory of a perfect Valentine’s evening, something he could carry with him and see anytime he closed his eyes.

Hermione decorated her room in both a Wizarding and Muggle Valentine’s Day fashion. She lit some ever-burning cinnamon candles and cast a spell over her fire so that it would emit a faint pink glow. Her sitting room was already covered in Gryffindor reds and golds, so the décor was an apt fit for Valentine’s Day.

In her bedroom, Hermione had strung little white lights along the walls and through the curtains over her bed. She shaped two intertwined hearts in rose petals across her white comforter.

Hermione, not wanting her room to look like the inside of Madam Puddifoot’s, went to change. She had ordered a special dress and matching lingerie. Sex with Draco was better than anything she had previously experienced. She had her dalliances with other boys, but nothing compared to being with someone like him—she didn’t want to know how Draco came to be a skilled lover, deciding to attribute it to the fact that he was smart and able to read her body like a book. He actually paid attention to what she liked and often asked her what she wanted. She didn’t have a lot of experience, but everything she had read told her how important it was to be honest with your partner. After all, they couldn’t read your mind—well, not in her Muggle magazines, any way.

Hermione was bubbling with excitement for tonight, her first real Valentine’s Day. She loved to surprised Draco, and he loved when she orchestrated their time together. Hermione always had some sort of new curiosity she wanted sated, and Draco was always willing to oblige.

Hermione carefully put on the red teddy. It was made of a mesh-like material that cast a delectable tint of red over her skin that it covered. It was cut high on the bum with a lace trim that led to a mock-corset tie at her waist. She used her wand to do-up the ribbon and admired the view of her ass and her back in the mirror. The corset only ran to about her mid-back so the rest of her back was exposed. The front of the teddy was held up by a halter-tie, two long pieces of the lacey, reinforced material covered her breasts, leaving only a sliver of skin exposed in the middle from her neck to just above her navel. Her stomach and most of her abdomen was covered in the see-through material, the lace appearing again to reinforce her pubic area, almost looking like a pair of tiny underwear.

She waved her dress off its hanger and slid it over her head. It was a silk red dress, cut in the same style of halter as her lingerie. It rested just above her knees and showed off her small waist. Hermione charmed the dress to cover up the ties of her teddy. She dabbed some perfume on her wrists and behind her ears, using that time to look over her makeup once more. She opted for a dewy pink look, highlighting her cheeks and her lips, and using just a bit of sparkle on her eyes. She wanted something similar to the look she wore the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party, but a bit more subdued.

Hermione decided to pin up her hair by gathering her smoothed curls into a low bun at the base of her skull. She wanted something simple to shake out because Draco loved to bury his hands in her hair and she loved the feeling of his fingers on her scalp, his hands sometimes pulling just a little on her tresses to add to her pleasure.

Hermione slipped into her shoes, a pair of matching red kitten-heels with a round toe. She adjusted her necklace, the “H” and its dragon sparkling prettily between her breasts.

Hermione clicked out to the sitting room, enjoying the way the bottom of her silken dress felt as it brushed against her legs. She walked over to the window and looked out across the The Great Lake. It was a rainy, winter night, the lake rippling under the fall of the steady drops, looking ominous without any bit of moon to light the sky and reflect in the water.

Draco slipped in through the portrait door and only took a few steps before stopping to stare at his Valentine. He loved the way she looked in red—so bold and utterly beautiful. Her beauty only deepened as she turned her eyes and met Draco’s, smiling with such warmth and light that Draco thought he would drown in it.

Hermione watched as Draco took off the hooded robe that hid his face and his white-blond hair. He was wearing a black suit and a dark grey dress shirt. His tie was also grey, but it was intricately patterned with bright, silver strands that caught the light and danced in it. His hair was perfectly coiffed, brushed to the side in its usual style. Draco looked better than he had in weeks. Weight had returned to his frame and the purple under his eyes had nearly disappeared.  
Of course, he had been spending more time with Hermione than ever before.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Hermione greeted. She waved her wand at the portrait to make sure it would open to no one else this evening.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Draco returned, eyes bouncing around the room, nose inhaling the light cinnamon scent. He gave a small hum of satisfaction and said, “You look beautiful.”

Hermione thanked him and returned his complement. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Hermione moved to stand in front of Draco and she slid her hands up the fabric of his jacket until they were resting on his shoulders. Draco placed his hands on Hermione’s hips and lightly moved his fingers over the fabric. Hermione stood up on her toes and kissed Draco, softly and sweetly. She kissed each corner of his mouth and the point of his chin before relaxing her feet. She took his hand and led him to the couch, Draco unbuttoning his jacket before sitting.

“Valentine’s Day in the wizarding world and in the Muggle world isn’t all that different,” Hermione began. “Although I’m sure Hallmark sure wishes it could extend its market into our world.”

“Hallmark?”

“A Muggle greeting card company. They sell cards for all occasions from birthdays to holidays to marriages—anything at all, really.”

“And the sentiments in these cards are all the same? I could buy you a card and someone else could have the same?”

“Yes, exactly. That’s pretty much the joke.”

“It sounds so . . . cheap.”

Hermione laughed, “It certainly does take the romance out of the sentiment, thinking about the thousands of other girls who received the same card.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief, sighing, “Muggles.”

Hermione grinned, “Well, don’t write them off just yet. I opted for traditionally Muggle gifts.”

Hermione handed Draco his first present, and he took it hesitantly as if it were about to bite him.

Hermione laughed heartily at his reaction, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. “Just open it!”

Draco seemed to be plucking up his courage as he straightened up then began to pick apart the white wrapping paper dotted with little red hearts.

Hermione watched, hardly suppressing her grin as Draco unfolded the light-grey boxer-briefs. He turned them over and across the front in large letters, it read: **Property of H. J. G.** Each initial was punctuated by a little red kiss instead of a period.

Hermione couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched Draco’s face puzzle out the gift. He eventually lowered the underwear and grinned madly at her. “This may be the most curious present I’ve ever received. I adore the sentiment,” he finished, a wolfish lilt in his voice.

“That’s more of a gag-gift, but I’m glad you like it. Open this one now.”

“Another! How exciting!” Draco tore into this present without hesitation. His mouth opened in a little “O” of surprise as he took in the photographs.

“They’re called Polaroids. They don’t move like wizarding photographs, but the special camera develops the film instantly so it’s _very_ private.” Hermione emphasized the word “very” and Draco looked up and back to the pictures again. A light blush colored his cheeks and Hermione thought he had never looked more endearing.

The pictures were of Hermione in her lingerie—one from the front, one from the back, and one with her bent over, just a bit, her pendant catching the light as she blew a kiss to the camera.

Draco looked at Hermione again and whispered, “Thank you. I’ll take great care with them.”

Hermione softly smiled. “I trust you. I wanted to give you something special to remember the rest of tonight.”

Draco’s face turned predatory as he worked out the meaning of her sentence. “You mean. . . I get to see this in person?”

Hermione answered him by standing and reaching around to unzip the back of her dress. Then she untied the halter straps and let the material fall to the floor. The look on Draco’s face as he drank her in was all the gift she needed.

Draco stood and advanced toward Hermione, but she held up her hand.

“First, you need to put on _your_ present. I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”

Hermione turned on her little heel and walked away, absolutely putting a little sway in her hips.

Draco called out, “Merlin, woman! You’re trying to kill me!”

Hermione chuckled, kicking off her shoes once she reached the bed. She could hear Draco undressing, so she perched on the edge of the bed, leaving the hearts undisturbed. When he walked in wearing nothing but his new underwear, Hermione was taken aback by how arousing the sight actually was. In her mind, she had thought it would be comical to see him swagger in, **Property of H. J. G.** brazenly stamped across his crotch, but instead, he looked seductively divine.

Draco was tall and lean, more muscular than one might think. The muscles on his abdomen were lightly defined as were his pecs. His chest had just a hint of coarse blonde hair, and his abdomen had the lightest trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waist band of his boxer-briefs. Hermione licked her lips and longed to run her tongue over that trail.

Draco crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway, the muscles on his arms standing out.

“Like what you see, Granger?”

“Get over here, Malfoy.”

Draco obliged, eager to see what he came to call “his lingerie” up close. As he approached, Hermione didn’t even bother to hide her gaze at his hardened cock. **Property of H. J. G.** , indeed!

Draco bent to kiss her, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her up to him and off the bed. His hands immediately roamed over exposed back and backside. He gripped her ass and kneaded the cheeks until Hermione pulled away from the kiss to inhale a proper breath. Draco sat on the bed and crooked his finger at Hermione, beckoning her to stand between his legs. His hands roamed her body, exploring every bit of the fabric. He turned her round, then turned her round again, committing this moment to every sensory memory that he could.

Draco again stood, and moved around to the back of Hermione as she faced the bed. With his hands on her hips and she leaning into him, he growled into her ear, “On the bed, on your hands and knees.”

Hermione shuddered at the command before moving forward, slowly, like the little temptress that she was, all dressed in Gryffindor red.

Hermione felt the bed dip under Draco’s weight. He had discarded his first Valentine’s gift and leaned his naked body over her lingerie-clad body to place kisses along her spine, enjoying the little goosebumps that broke out all over her flesh. He pulled the ribbon on the corset and the fabric loosened. Draco dipped his hand inside the material to feel her soft skin. He pulled on the material, testing its strength before ripping the bottom, the material sliding down Hermione’s thighs and leaving her wet core exposed.

“Draco!” Hermione admonished.

Draco laughed, “What did you expect me to do? It _is_ my gift, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed as Draco was now very lightly running his fingers along her wet folds, teasing her.

“Well then I ought to get to unwrap it,” Draco breathed as he untied the top half, Hermione’s breasts spilling out of their fabric prison.

Draco yanked the rest of the lingerie off and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

Hermione’s mind was a gibberish mess and she wasn’t sure she could articulate any thought. She tried to just say, “You,” but that wasn’t good enough for Draco.

He had settled between her thighs, his cock pressing against her ass as he leaned forward to grasp both of her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers pinching her hard nipples.

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

“Fuck me, Dray. Just like this. Fuck me, _pleeease_ ,” she said, slipping into just the hint of a whine as she said “please,” knowing that it drove him mad.

Draco pulled back and admired the view one more time before spreading her lips with his cock and entering her, balls deep in one stroke.

Hermione made a delicious sound that was somewhere between a scream and a growl. Before he moved, he reached around to lightly stroke her clit, causing her arms to shake and her breath to quicken.

Draco moved his hands back to her hips and began a deep, but maddeningly slow rhythm. Hermione pushed her hips back, succumbing to the same rhythm. Draco watched with pleasure as each snap of their hips loosened Hermione’s hair.

As he fucked her, he squeezed her ass cheeks, spreading them, kneading them and occasionally giving them a light slap, which was always met by another one of those delicious half-growls.

“Please, Draco. I want to come.”

Draco slowed his pace before completely pulling out, his cock glistening.

Draco moved to the edge of the bed and stood. Hermione collapsed and rolled over as soon as he withdrew. He reached up under her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Hermione’s eyes were wide open, roaming over Draco’s frame, from his cock to his flushed chest and neck. His lips were wet and she wanted to kiss him, but he had her legs spread again and was circling her clit with his thumb. Hermione reached back above her head and clutched the comforter, rose petals sliding like velvet between her fingers.

“Exquisite,” Draco whispered as he looked at her, never stopping the steady pace of his circling thumb.

Hermione moaned and tried to bring her thighs together. Draco stilled his thumb, not wanting her to come until he was inside of her. He pushed himself back into her wet heat and hooked his hands under her knees. Draco had a perfect view of Hermione’s pussy and admired every inch of her as he set a new rhythm. His eyes wandered up her body and took in her bouncing breasts and her clutching hands. Her curls were everywhere, spread out around her lovely face.

Draco hooked one of Hermione’s legs around his waist and she dug her heel into his ass. He went back to applying pressure to her clit, everything so slick and so hot.

“Hermione, gods yes!” His climax came rushing out as his senses were overtaken by the vision before him and by the tight heat surrounding his cock. Hermione’s heel dug harder into him and her other leg clutched around his forearm. His thumb’s movements stilled only for a few seconds as he came and as soon as he could, he was rubbing her clit to get her to her own climax. Her walls clenched around his cock and Hermione chanted his name.

Draco’s legs were shaking as he picked Hermione up, his cock still inside of her. She clung to him as he yanked the cover down and moved them into the bed. Hermione shifted and Draco’s cock slid out of her. He reached for his wand and cast, “Scourgify.”

Hermione and Draco faced each other, sleep threatening them both.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Draco whispered.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Hermione returned.

 

_A few weeks later. . ._  
Hermione hummed as she flew through a last-minute check on her homework. She was lounging in the comfy chair by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry and Ron playing a game of Wizard’s Chess on the floor beneath her.

Harry stilled, “Oh my god! Why didn’t I think of this before?!”

He leapt up from his spot on the floor, knocking over his remaining pieces as he rushed toward his room.

Ron and Hermione stared quizzically at his receding form, wondering what he was going on about.

“I was just about to win,” Ron whined as his pieces stared up at him, hands on their hips as they rolled around on the board.

Hermione’s heart sank when she what was in Harry’s hand as he practically skipped down the stairs.

“The Map! I can see what Malfoy’s up to without it interfering in my attempt to get Slughorn’s memory.” Harry beamed at Hermione, looking as if he had just found the solution to all the world’s problems.

Hermione gave him a weak smile and said softly, “Yes. How clever, Harry. . .”


	8. Reading the Letter: Fate Really is a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ron's poisoning, Hermione finally has a bold conversation with Draco about his behavior.

_**I didn’t know the proof of my loyalty would be to kill our Headmaster. It was never a lie when I told you I was protecting my mother. After watching the Dark Lord kill Professor Burbage and feed her body to his snake on the table where my family took their meals, I knew what I had to do. He would kill us if I refused, and he will kill us if I fail.** _

* * *

“Fate, Miss Granger, plays a powerful role in our lives,” Professor Dumbledore said as he gazed at her from behind his desk, one finger resting lightly on the grip of this wand.

“Some wizards are more connected to that force than others, recognizing when Fate has offered or barred them an opportunity, or saved them from a tragedy or a case of indigestion. However, in that recognition, we are able to use what is perhaps one of our greatest gifts—free will. We get to choose, Miss Granger.”

Hermione sat, her back ramrod-straight even in the plush, oversized chair. She kept her feet planted firmly on the floor, her hands folded in her lap to disguise that she was squeezing them together with a nervous force, trying to hide the unease creeping through every nerve ending in her body.

When Professor McGonagall had collected Hermione from the library, stating only that the Headmaster had requested her presence, she paled, a sinking feeling anchoring in her stomach. She immediately thought he knew about her and Draco and was going to expel her for abusing her single-dorm privileges, not to mention sneaking into another House—and oh, gods! The list of her infractions was endless.

Dumbledore continued, “When Fate presents itself, we must decide whether to help, hurt, or ignore it. So much good can be done if one chooses to help, Miss Granger. So much good.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione quietly said.

“I hope that your help, your kindness, extends beyond your closest friendships. You have so much to kindness to offer—a too rare gift in our world.”

Hermione, confused but far too scared to ask questions, nodded in agreement.

“If you would be so kind as to deliver this note to Mr. Potter, I would be greatly appreciative,” Dumbledore said as he gathered his wand in order to give it a flick, an envelope appearing on the edge of his desk.

A startled little, “Oh!” escaped Hermione’s lips, followed by, “Of course, Professor. Right away!”

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes crinkling just a bit in the corners. Hermione, now able to think beyond her life as an expulsed failure, thought Dumbledore looked very, very tired.

Hermione took the envelope, thanked the Headmaster and promised to consider his words carefully; she walked steadily out of Dumbledore’s office. Once she reached the stairs, she bolted down them, feet landing with a thump on the stone floor. Armed with Dumbledore’s letter, Hermione briskly set a pace for Gryffindor tower in the hopes that Harry would be there.

Hermione was just making her way up the second set of stairs when an arm snaked around her wrist and yanked her into a rather small closet, making access to her wand impossible.

“I missed you,” a voice rumbled as hands moved from her waist to her ass.

“Shhh- Cormac. You know we need to keep this a secret,” Hermione whispered through her smile.

Draco hummed, “Well who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

“Kiss me, you idiot,” Hermione said as she leaned toward Draco.

Draco obliged, pressing his lips against hers and tasting the remnants of a lemon drop. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, then sucked it between his lips. Hermione sighed into his mouth and deepened the kiss, relishing in the feel of his tongue against hers.

Closing the kiss, Hermione told Draco that she had somewhere to be. “And who knows where Harry is with that damned map,” she added.

“I need to see you soon—can you get rid of the map?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have it secured for an evening. I’ve really got to go.”

“Of course, I know,” Draco whispered as he gave her bum one more squeeze before she opened the door to peek into the hallway. Hermione darted out, shutting the door behind her, smoothing her skirt as she glanced at the crumpled note in her hand.

Hermione delivered the letter to Harry and asked when the next meeting date was. It was about a week after Ron’s birthday, so she encouraged Harry to focus on acquiring Slughorn’s memory. Hermione also knew that she would be safe to summon the map and meet with Draco that night, returning the map in the morning so Harry would never know it was missing.

Draco had begun to look awful again, and Hermione was very worried about him. It had been two weeks since Harry’s revelation and she and Draco hadn’t had a chance to be alone since. Draco was once again skipping class, and when he did show up, he looked distracted.

Hermione was happy she had caught up with Harry to deliver Dumbledore’s letter. Today was Ron’s birthday, so Harry and a few others were heading outside to play some Quidditch. Hermione wished Ron a happy birthday one more time, then went to her room, exhausted from replaying Dumbledore’s conversation and lonely from not seeing Draco.

Hermione must have fallen asleep on her couch because she was shaken awake by a frazzled and rather grey looking Ginny. Ron was in the hospital—he had been poisoned.

Hermione rushed with Ginny to the Hospital Wing, and Harry filled her in on what had happened. Ron, being Ron, thought Romilda’s candies were a birthday gift, and after eating several, began to act strange enough for Harry to take him to Slughorn. Slughorn immediately recognized the effects of the love potion and gave Ron an antidote. To counteract the low Ron was about to have from coming down from the high of the love potion, Slughorn gave Ron a glass of mead. That was when Ron was poisoned.

“Slughorn told us that he had intended to give that bottle to Professor Dumbledore as a Christmas present,” Harry finished.

“Well, there you have it. The bottle was intended for Dumbledore,” Ginny stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Harry seemed deep in thought and Hermione knew what he was thinking. Before he could speak, the Weasleys came over to thank Harry for saving their son’s life. Hermione took one last long look at Ron and knew she had to have a very real conversation with Draco. Something was going on and she could no longer deny the niggling in the back of her mind that Draco knew something.

Once she returned to her room, Hermione scribbled a date, a time and a place on a piece of parchment, which instantaneously showed up on another piece of parchment inside the Slytherin dorms.

 

_A week later. . ._  
Draco began to wonder whether it was his turn to be stood up. Hermione was never late, and he glanced impatiently at his watch for the third time. Draco also wondered why Hermione wanted to meet him here, in the same abandoned classroom where they shared their first kiss.

“Hi,” Hermione said softly as she walked through the open door, shutting and locking it behind her.

Draco had already lit some of the cobwebbed candles with his wand, so a dim light emanated from a few places along the wall and from an old chandelier in the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, not bothering with proprieties and acting on his instinct.

“We need to talk about what happened to Ron.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, an indication that whatever he had expected Hermione to say, that was not it.

Hermione pressed on. “At the start of the year, in this very room, you told me that you had changed, that you wanted me to see the real Draco. You’ve done a more than adequate job proving that statement true. But now I have to ask, what has that other Draco been doing? The one who has to maintain the Malfoy reputation?

“You think I poisoned the Weasel,” Draco stated, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course not. But I do think you know something about it. Why do you spend so much time in the Room of Requirement? What do you need from it? I’ve given so much of myself to you, more than I ever have to anyone else. The least you can do is let me know if you need hel—”

“Don’t you dare!” Draco whirled on her, angrier than Hermione had ever seen him. She noticed that his wand was out, not yet pointing at her, but damn ready to.

“You agreed to let what I couldn’t answer go. You agreed to let me share my changed self with you and only with you. But that’s not good enough for a righteous Gryffindor like you, is it? You want me to give up everything and follow Potter around like he’s some kind of fucking hero because you wanted to prove that everything your lot touches turns to gold. You can’t fuck someone like me into the light, Granger. And let me tell you something else that no one has ever bothered to—there are some things that you _don’t_ know.”

Hermione’s flesh prickled at Draco’s words. She should have left. She should have just left Draco like that—angry and in anguish. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Hermione loved him, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it, and she suspected that he loved her, too.

Hermione rushed to him, hugging him, feeling his tense, hard body flush with hers, practically feeling the anger coursing through his blood. She just held onto him, refusing to let go, even when he tried to step back.

Draco fought against her embrace, shocked she had wrapped her arms around him. She smelled like cinnamon and she was so small and so fierce and she was _Hermione_ for Merlin’s sake! He had been cruel, but she, once again, chose to be kind.

Soon, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her waist, and burying his face in her hair. They stood like that for a long time, entwined with one another, neither wanting to move.

Draco finally spoke into Hermione’s hair. “My mother isn’t safe and I am going to do what I must to protect her.”

Hermione pulled back and looked up into his face.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m trying to make sure she is safe. I’m trying and I’m trying and I just keep failing.” Draco’s breath hitched and Hermione stiffened at the thought of Draco crying in front of her.

Hermione reached up to place both of her hands on the sides of his face and was quickly at a loss when she read the desperate sadness in his countenance.

“Please, Draco. Let me help you.”

Draco straightened and removed her hands, holding on to them for only a moment.

“We need to stop seeing each other like this,” Draco said, his voice low and containing little emotion.

Hermione looked as if she had been slapped, the color draining from her face.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. With Potter watching the map and you running to me, wondering if every act of darkness is done by my hand, I can’t worry about whose side you’re on or when your nobility is going to force you to have a confess-all with your friends. We're done--it's really for the best.”

Draco finished his last sentence with that same voice as earlier as if he had compartmentalized his emotions, locking them all away. He waved his wand, the room going dark. Draco left, the now unlocked door banging shut behind him, leaving Hermione aching and alone with only the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters! Chapter 9 ends the letter and you know we can't ignore the Sectumsempra incident. All comments are welcome and appreciated :)


	9. Reading the Letter: An Illusory Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione visits Draco in the Hospital Wing after the battle in the bathroom.

_**Hermione, I know you believe in Potter, and being with you allowed me to glimpse the possibility of a better future that I cannot carry with me beyond this, our last night. I go to my Fate knowing that my final failure is that I have lost you.** _

_**Thank you for taking a chance on me—please know that it was your enduring hope and your love that saved me from a Fate worse than death.** _

_**I love you,** _  
_**Draco** _

Hermione folded the letter and placed it back on top of her nightstand in the exact place Draco had left it. She still sat on the edge of the bed, her hands now gripping the mattress edge beneath her. Hermione couldn’t stop the cacophony in her mind of everything she’d done wrong, of every way she’d failed Draco and thus failed Dumbledore. If only she’d gone to Dumbledore herself!

Or, if only she’d taken Draco to Harry. It would have been difficult to get Harry to come around, but if Harry knew the Draco that Hermione knew, he would’ve helped.

If only she had put the pieces together sooner! It was all so obvious now. How could she have been so reckless?

If only, if only, if only. . .

 *** * ***  
Harry couldn’t face Ron, not now. He needed to talk to Hermione. She’d know what to say to help him process what just happened.

Harry quickly walked to Hermione’s portrait in an attempt to avoid anyone seeing him in his current state. His robes were soaked and his white shirt was a sickening pink color from the diluted blood, but it still harbored slashes of bright red here and there that came directly from Malfoy’s wounds. He was also dirty from the exploding porcelain dust and from the bin one of Malfoy’s hexes shattered. Never had Harry felt so villainous.

Hermione was just stepping out of her portrait when Harry approached, her quick eyes taking in his disheveled appearance.

“Get in here,” she said ushering him through the portrait door, pulling at his cloak until he was free, hanging it over a little-used chair. “What happened?”

Harry could practically feel Hermione’s mind working, trying to deduce every possible explanation for why he appeared this way, and Harry was too shocked to even bother hesitating. He sat, heavily, on the couch in front of the fire, his body trembling.

Hermione sat beside him and took his hand, her eyes continue to burn into him.

“I followed Malfoy into the boys’ bathroom. I don’t even know why—I just saw that he was in there on the map.”

At the mention of Draco’s name, Hermione’s grip had tightened on Harry’s hand.

“He was at the sink and at first I couldn’t see his face. I could only hear it in his voice when he answered Moaning Myrtle. He was crying. He was saying that he couldn’t do something, that he had to do it soon or else he would be killed.”

Harry paused, staring at the fire, his glasses reflecting the light so Hermione couldn’t see his eyes. In a quiet fury, Hermione reached out and yanked off his glasses, Harry turning to face her.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me what you did,” Hermione said in a voice that just barely hid her roiling emotions.

Harry held her gaze, his eyes shining with tears, “I thought I killed him. I used a curse from my potions book, and gods, Hermione, there was so much blood. . .” Harry’s voice cracked and a strangled sob escaped, a fat tear rolled down his cheek.

“What happened to Draco?”

Harry took several steadying breaths before he answered, Hermione’s own breathing coming in sharp little inhales, her hand still holding onto Harry’s, more as an anchor now than as a sign of friendship.

Harry swallowed hard, “Snape saved him. The curse. . . it cut Malfoy all over his face and chest, deep gashes. Snape must’ve heard Myrtle yell and he came in and saved him. Malfoy’s in the Hospital Wing now.”

“What was the curse?”

“Hermione, please. Don’t make me—”

“Harry, you almost killed someone by using an unknown curse you found scrawled in a book that I had begged you for months to stop using. Whoever this “Half-Blood Prince” is, they’re clearly not a friend to us.”

“Sectumsempra,” Harry whispered.

Hermione paled and let go of Harry’s hand as she pieced together some of the Latin. Her best friend really did nearly kill the boy she loved—and she could never tell him that, nor anyone.

Hermione stood, dismissing Harry with her tone.

“I need to borrow your cloak and map. I have to spend the night in the Restricted Section to see what I can find out about the Half-Blood Prince.”

Harry nodded, adding, “I’ll help. This is all my fault.”

“You’re damn right it’s your fault, Harry, and I hope you’ve finally learned something from this. When are you going to stop letting your arrogance hurt other people?”

Harry’s eyes flew to Hermione’s, his mouth gaping a bit, looking more wounded than angry.

Hermione softened a little bit when she saw that Harry was feeling truly guilty for his actions, and apparently, he felt completely helpless because he had stumbled to her, without even changing, to tell her.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but this is serious. Sometimes, we need to feel through our pain when we cause hurt to others. That’s what makes us take pause before we do something rash or cruel again. It’s okay to feel like this, Harry. In fact, it’s what makes me proud to be your friend.”

“I’m worried about Malfoy—what I did to him, yes, but also what he might still do. What he said confirms what I’ve suspected. He does have something to do and don’t tell me that that “he” could be anyone other than Voldemort.”

“And exactly how many times have you said, ‘Oh, McGonagall’s going to kill me,’ or heard Ron say, ‘Mum’s going to kill me’”?

“Hermione, it was _not_ that kind of statement. He was genuinely afraid. He was crying. Malfoy was crying!”

“I don’t know what to say, Harry. I still don’t believe that Draco is a Death Eater, but he does have a father who is one, and an aunt and probably several cousins. Just because Draco’s father made a choice to follow Voldemort, doesn’t mean that he will.”

Harry seemed to be considering Hermione’s words, perhaps feeling more rationale in the wake of his most recent action against Malfoy.

“I have to tell Dumbledore—about all of it,” Harry finally said as he stood, gathered his cloak off the chair, and put his glasses back on.

Hermione agreed. If anyone could get to the bottom of what was going on with Draco, it was Dumbledore.

“I’ll come by in an hour to pick up the cloak and the map. I think you should keep a low profile. This is going to go through the school like a wildfire.”

Harry looked crestfallen, “And I have to spend every Saturday for the rest of the school year in detention with Snape. I’m going to miss Quidditch.”

Hermione stilled, every muscle in her body tensed. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Oh. I suppose you find that too harsh a punishment for nearly murdering another person?”

“He was going to use Cruciatus on me,” Harry countered, pausing in front of Hermione’s portrait door.

“He started to say it and that’s when I used the curse on him.”

Hermione sighed. This was a lose-lose situation.

“I’m glad you came to me Harry. I don’t doubt that Malfoy would resort to an Unforgiveable if he felt cornered, or if he felt angry enough. It is you and Malfoy after all.”

“Thank you, Hermione, for listening. And for being. . . well, you. I’ll leave my cloak and the map on my bed.”

Hermione watched Harry leave. As soon as the portrait door clicked shut, she crumpled to the floor and buried her head in her hands, her mind racing and her heart thudding.

 

 _Later that night . . ._  
After donning Harry’s cloak and checking the map under the guise of visiting the Restricted Section, Hermione carefully made her way to the Hospital Wing. She had been right—the school was absolutely buzzing about Harry and Draco’s duel, the Slytherins vilifying Harry. During dinner, Pansy was telling anyone within earshot, or within earshot of a few tables, that Draco was lying on his deathbed thanks to Harry and that anyone else would’ve been expelled, but since everyone at Hogwarts loves Muggles more than Wizards, of course Draco would be seen as expendable.

Hermione couldn’t help but think Pansy had a point. Not an exact point, of course, but Malfoy had been such a prat to more than half the school that it was likely he was more the villain in the situation. Hermione knew, of course, that no one was going to risk putting Harry out of Dumbledore’s protection. Someday, they would all know the truth. Right now, all Hermione cared about was seeing Draco.

Despite Draco’s declaration that he was done with Hermione, last week he had waited in the library for her. When it was just the two of them, he caught her eye and tilted his head in the direction of a rarely-used section of books. Hermione followed, worried because he looked more haggard than ever.

Before she could open her mouth, he said he was sorry. He didn’t want to end the best thing that had ever happened to him. Hermione threw her arms around him and they snuck back to her dorm, spending a large portion of the night making up transgressions. Hermione dared to wonder if it would always be like this with her and Draco, a constant state of give and take, push and pull, just like the yin and yang.

In the morning, Hermione nearly fainted with worry, wondering if Harry had been watching the map. She had supposed that he would have burst in, hexing everything and anyone in sight if he had. She later found out that as Fate would have it, he had been much more focused on the fact that Ginny had broken up with Dean. Harry went to bed and was too euphoric to track Draco that night.

Fate. What a funny thing.

Since Draco was the only student in the Hospital Wing, it was easy for Hermione to wait near the entry door until the light in Madam Pomfrey’s office extinguished. His bed was nearest to her office, so she knew she’d have to cast a silencing charm.

Hermione crept forward. Once she was within a few steps of Draco’s bed, she poked her wand from under the cloak and cast a silencing charm. Then, she finally looked at Draco. He seemed to be asleep, his bandaged chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He had on a long-sleeve, button down pajama shirt, but it was open to expose the white bandages covering his torso, some of those bandages stained with just the slightest tinge of pink.

Her eyes crept from his chest to his neck to his face. He was abysmally pale and his face was covered in the tiniest jagged pink lines that appeared to have a clear coating over them, making Draco’s face shimmer with the reflecting torchlight. For the first time, Hermione thought he looked weak.

Since she didn’t want to startle him, she removed Harry’s cloak and made sure to stand where he would see her as soon as he opened his eyes.

But it was Hermione who ended up jumping into the air, startled as Draco abruptly spoke.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away. Come to finish the job for Potter?”

Draco opened his eyes, the sadness within them bringing tears to Hermione’s. It was if all the fight had been bled out of him and washed down Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom drain.

“I. . .I don’t even know what to say,” Hermione whispered.

Draco managed a signature smirk, “Hermione Granger. Speechless. I must record this for the ages.”

Hermione, despite her unease, smiled and choked back her tears.

“This is not a time for joking.”

“I almost died. I think it’s the perfect time.”

Draco shifted and winced. Hermione closed the distance and stood with her hands awkwardly stopped in mid-air.

“I don’t know where to touch you,” she said, adding to the comical nature of her stance.

Draco raised his eyebrows, “I can assure you that Potter only disfigured my upper half. My lower extremities remain fully functional.”

Hermione couldn’t help it and found herself smiling.

“You’re impossible, Draco.”

Draco gave her a soft smile in return and proffered his hand. She took it, pressing his knuckles to her cheek, savoring the fact that his skin was still warm. He was alive.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but Harry feels—”

Draco’s face darkened enough to give Hermione pause.

“I don’t want to hear that. Spare me saint Potter’s _guilt_ ,” Draco said, spitting out the word “guilt.”

Hermione nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Draco. She moved her hand to his upper thigh, near his hip bone. She loved to touch him here, savoring the way he would hiss if she applied the pressure of her fingernails, teasing him. Now, it was an intimate gesture, one passed between seasoned lovers.

“What happened? I mean, I know the logistics, but I’m left with so many questions. Were you really going to use an Unforgiveable Curse?”

Draco turned his head and studied one of the low-burning torches on the wall. The silence between them was new to Hermione and she thought she might suffocate from it.

“Draco,” she said, unable to take the oppressive quiet.

“Last week was a mistake. I meant it when I said we were done. We can’t keep seeing each other.”

Hermione stood, not caring that she jostled the bed and caused Draco to wince.

“Enough! I can’t stand your sanctimonious shit any longer! You need help. I’m taking you to Dumbledore and you can tell him what’s been happening since you won’t tell me.”

Draco laughed, a strange cross between a wheeze and an outright chuckle, as if Hermione had just told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Draco’s laughter only served to enrage Hermione.

“I mean it. You need help and you’re behaving like a fucking child!”

Draco’s laughter died in his throat and he grabbed Hermione’s wrist.

“Don’t you _dare_ call me a child,” Draco said in a tone that caused Hermione’s hair to rise on the back of her neck, his grey eyes turning to ice and boring into her brown eyes, freezing their warmth.

“Run to your hero Dumbledore, little girl, because that’s who always solves your problems. You wouldn’t know what to do in a situation where it was just you—no Potter, no Headmaster, no one to save you. Fuck off, Granger.”

By the time Draco cursed at Hermione, he had lost his fire. It came out more sad than angry which only made the tears burning in Hermione’s eyes threaten to fall.

“Leave.”

Hermione looked at the floor and said, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was so worried about you. I wanted to see that you were okay. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. . . ” she repeated as she trailed off, finally glancing back up to his face.

Draco had already turned to stare at the torch on the wall. He said nothing, letting that oppressive silence fill the room again.

Hermione’s breath hitched and she ended the silencing spell she placed around his bed. She pressed a quick kiss to his temple, whispering, “I love you.”

Draco waited until he heard the door shut before he reached up to touch the place that was still warm from her sweet kiss and her even sweeter admission. His tears came in earnest as he thought of what was to come and what he was going to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a bit more concerned about the fact that he almost killed a person in my version of events. It always bothered me that he was more worried about missing Quidditch than, you know, inadvertent murder. Chapter 10 is the conclusion and occurs post-letter (no more flashbacks) and will be posted soon : ) As always, let me know your thoughts!


	10. Just for One Night (Reprise)

Hermione had fallen asleep, physical and emotional exhaustion proving too much for her to fight. She was twisted in her sheets, her long curls wild and stretching about her head. She had subconsciously wrapped herself around the pillow that still smelled like Draco, nestling it close to her body. Although tears had threated Hermione’s eyes when she finished the letter, only a few escaped and she still had not had the sort of cleansing lament that comes as swiftly as a summer storm when someone finally recognizes that their world has been irreversibly altered.

When she awoke, reality assaulted her. There was no pleasant lull between dreaming and waking; her body immediately tensed, bracing itself for the onslaught of hurt.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and before she could stop her fingers, they were reaching for, then unfolding the letter so her eyes could scan its contents once again.

 

_**Granger,** _   
_**It’s been a long time since I’ve called you that, even in my mind, but I can’t think of a better opening line for the hardest truth I’ve ever had to face. My life had already irrevocably changed before this year, but as I write this, you need to know that now it is my heart that has irrevocably changed. Fate is a fickle god, Granger, and more often than not, a cruel one.** _

_**Imagine, you, with your nose stuck in a book, walking square into none other than myself and upending my entire worldview.** _

_**And in the process, you made me break a few school rules, starting with sneaking into my dorm. I often think of how differently everything would have turned out if you hadn't chosen to follow me that night. So, I ask again: Isn't Fate such a funny sort of thing?** _

_**For the longest time, I blamed Fate for my life because the possibility of accepting that I was composed of a nonredeemable darkness was my nightmare. Lying to you, the one person who made me feel like maybe, just maybe it wasn’t too late for me, ensured that my path for redemption was truly barred.** _

_**Please try to understand that I was in total darkness before you offered me light. At the end of fifth year, I blamed Potter for my father’s arrest and for our family’s embarrassment. I was so angry and so determined to prove my family’s importance. I accepted the Dark Mark, my pride blinding me to the reality of the failures that would make me into my father. You helped me see that I am not my father, Hermione, so I get to write this letter as my own man.** _

_**I didn’t know the proof of my loyalty would be to kill our Headmaster. It was never a lie when I told you I was protecting my mother. After watching the Dark Lord kill Professor Burbage and feed her body to his snake on the table where my family took their meals, I knew what I had to do. He would kill us if I refused, and he will kill us if I fail.** _

_**Hermione, I know you believe in Potter, and being with you allowed me to glimpse the possibility of a better future that I cannot carry with me beyond this, our last night. I go to my Fate knowing that my final failure is that I have lost you.** _

_**Thank you for taking a chance on me—please know that it was your enduring hope and your love that saved me from a Fate worse than death.** _

_**I love you,** _   
_**Draco** _

 

The strident blare of “if onlys” returned, marching through Hermione’s mind until she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears.

“Stop, please stop,” she whispered, over and over until her mind cooperated.

Hermione reminded herself to breath, steady and deep. She began to compartmentalize her thoughts, relishing in making order out of chaos. But one line continued to pester her, a niggling idea that began to burn through all her thoughts until it was a raging fire, swallowing even the “if onlys.”

_No. Surely he would not have done that._ It would be madness to make that sacrifice.

She had to be sure.

Hermione disentangled herself and stepped toward her closet, pausing then turning back to the bed to yank off all the sheets. She rolled everything up into the white, downy comforter and tossed it into a corner in the room.

She dressed in jeans and a black, long-sleeve shirt knowing that classes and activities had been cancelled for the remainder of the year to accommodate the students who were attending Dumbledore’s funeral. Hermione shuffled her feet into her sneakers and made her way to the Room of Hidden Things.

As she walked, she thought about what Harry had told her and Ron. Draco was lowering his wand, and was considering Dumbledore’s offer of protection. It was clear that he wasn’t going to kill the Headmaster, and Dumbledore even acknowledged that Draco’s attempts were only halfhearted. If Harry was willing to admit that Draco Malfoy was incapable of murder, Hermione knew it was the truth. It wasn’t just her love for him that made her believe he was incapable of such an act.

Hermione filed away her thoughts in order to concentrate on Draco’s Room of Hidden Things. When the door appeared, she entered, and the vanishing cabinet drew her eye. What was left of it stood out obscenely among all the other piles of objects. It appeared to be broken beyond repair this time, the bottom shattered, splinters of wood littering the floor.

_He didn’t. Surely, he didn’t,_ Hermione’s mind whispered as an urgency filled her, making her already tense body feel as if it were the trigger on a catapult, straining to hold back the release lever.

She pulled her eyes away from the cabinet, a shudder of revulsion sweeping through her. As Hermione scanned the room, her mind wondered back to the afternoon she and Draco spent here during the Slytherin-Gryffindor match.

_Gods, that was a thousand years ago._

As if she were being pulled by the force of her memories, Hermione walked in the direction of the familiar, large sofa.

On one cushion lay a red and gold scarf. Hermione’s hand unconsciously moved to her neck when she remembered the hour she had spent looking for it all over her room and Gryffindor tower. Hermione sat down hard, and ran her fingers over the scarf before picking it up. As she moved the scarf, a small vial filled with a glowing, silvery substance rolled out and bumped her leg.

Hermione picked up the vial of Draco’s memories, her stomach in knots, her chest tightening as the tears that only threatened before finally, _finally_ escaped. Hermione’s broken sobs reached into every nook of the room, whirring and whizzing objects stilling in compassion for the sounds of this broken creature.

Hermione first wept for the loss of her secret hope, the one that she had held on to as she read the letter, believing that since he didn’t kill the Headmaster that he would escape and make his way back to her, to Potter and the Order, and Draco would help them defeat Voldemort.

Then, with a gasp of agony, she wept for the loss of Draco’s hope, his wish for a future without servitude to any cause but his own, the loss of the hope of the man he wanted to be, and the catastrophic embrace of the man he was Fated to be.

After some time, Hermione’s tears slowed from rivulets to intermittent drops. She wiped at her eyes, cheeks, and nose, knowing no one would proffer a second-glance at a student’s tear-stained face in the hallway today. She gathered her scarf, carefully burying the vial within.

The next time she met Draco, he would be her old enemy.

When Hermione returned to her dorm, she tucked the scarf and its secret into her school trunk. She washed her face, erasing all evidence of her sorrow, then headed to the Common Room to join Ron and Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this journey :) I hope you enjoyed it!


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